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At Quincy's moat the squandering village ends,
And there in the almshouse dwell the dearest friends
Of all the village, two old dames that cling
As close as any trueloves in the spring.

— Edmund Charles Blunden

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More quotes by Edmund Charles Blunden

The field and wood, all bone-fed loam,
Set up a roaring harvest-home.

I am for the woods against the world,
But are the woods for me?

Can she who shines so calm be fear?
What poison pours she in slumber's ear?

Cricket to us, like you, was more than play,
It was a worship in the summer sun.

Dance on this ball-floor thin and wan,
Use him as though you love him;
Court him, elude him, reel and pass,
And let him hate you through the glass.

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Edmund Charles Blunden (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.