Acres Wild
I'll make love to youIn all good placesUnder black mountainsIn open spaces.By deep brown riversThat slither darklyThrough far marchesWhere the blue hare races.
Come with me to the Winged Isle,Northern father's western child.Where the dance of ages is playing stillThrough far marches of acres wild.
I'll make love to youIn narrow side streetsWith shuttered windows,And crumbling chimneys.
Come with me to the weary townDiscos silent under tilesThat slide from rooftops, scatter softlyOn concrete marches of acres wild.
By red bricks pointedWith cement fingersFlaking damplyFrom sagging shoulders.
Come with me to the Winged Isle,Northern father's western child.Where the dance of ages is playing stillThrough far marches of acres wild.