He's gone, and all our plansAre useless indeed.We'll walk no more on CotswoldWhere the sheep feedQuietly and take no heed.
[Ivor Gurney {1890-1937} from 'To His Love', in Poems of Mourning {Everyman's Library Pocket Poets}]
He's gone, and all our plansAre useless indeed.We'll walk no more on CotswoldWhere the sheep feedQuietly and take no heed.
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