|But Grantchester! ah, Grantchester!||100|
|There’s peace and holy quiet there,|
|Great clouds along pacific skies,|
|And men and women with straight eyes,|
|Lithe children lovelier than a dream,|
|A bosky wood, a slumbrous stream,||105|
|And little kindly winds that creep|
Round twilight corners, half asleep.