The Southern Hills and the South Sea They blow such gladness into me, That when I get to Burton Sands And smell the smell of Home Lands, My heart is all renewed and fills With the Southern Sea and the...

To Mrs. Wright-Biddulph of burton in the county of sussex, under whose roof so much of this book was written...

My County, it has been proved in the life of every man that though his loves are human, and therefore changeable, yet in proportion as he attaches them to things unchangeable, so they mature and broad...

Nine years ago, as I was sitting in the “George” at Robertsbridge, drinking that port of theirs and staring at the fire, there arose in me a multitude of thoughts through which at last came floating a...

There was still wind in the sky, and clouds shaped to it, and driving before it in the cold morning as we went up the lane by Scalands Gate and between the leafless woods; and still the road rose unti...

I woke next morning to the noise, the pleasant noise, of water boiling in a kettle. May God bless that noise and grant it to be the most sacred noise in the world. For it is the noise that babes hear ...

Next morning when I woke it was because the Poet was timidly walking about the room, making as much noise as he dared, but unwilling to be longer alone. The fire was out, and the small place looked mo...

I woke sharply and suddenly from a dream in that empty room. It was Grizzlebeard that had put his hand upon my shoulder. The late winter dawn was barely glimmering, and there was mist upon the heath o...