No "silver sea" where the gaudy and giddy come;
We're for a peacefuller air
Breathing of _Uncle Tom Cobley_ and Widdicombe
Fair.

Warm as a welcome the red of the tillage is,
Green are the pastures, and deep
Down in the combes little thatch-covered villages
Sleep.

Far from society (praises to Allah be!),
Wearing demobilised boots,
Clad in our countrified (Deeley-cum-Mallaby)
Suits,

We'll o'er the moor where the ways never weary us,
Lunch at a primitive pub,
Loaf till it's time to get back to more serious
Grub.

Haply some neighbouring Dartymoor brooklet'll
Tempt us at eve to set out,
Greenheart in hand, and endeavour to hook little
Trout.

Well, there's a programme for three weeks of heaven, sheer
Bliss, if you add to the scheme
Farm eggs and bacon and junket and Devonshire
Cream.