A wilderness of wildest grass
Sweeping like waves across a sea,
As green as time, as fresh as dawn,
The wind that cuts us drives us on
There is that sound that sweet refrain
It’s in my heart it’s in my brain,
But nothing comes no snorting steeds,
No racehorses between the trees,
But only sounds like distant bells
Of some strange church the final knell
Of misty music, tossing mane
Of horses prancing in the rain,
Sounds are all that we will hear
For they are gone full thousand year
Their ghosts will haunt the rolling downs
Their steaming breath is seen between
The seeping mist and rising sun,
They may be here but they are gone.