Explore "Letter to s. s. from Mametz Wood" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I never dreamed we'd meet that day / In our old haunts down Fricourt way, / Plotting such marvellous journeys there / For jolly old "Apres-la-guerre."
Well, when it's over, first we'll meet / At Gweithdy Bach, my country seat / In Wales, a curious little shop / With two rooms and a roof on top, / A sort of Morlancourt-ish billet / That never needs a crowd to fill it. / But oh, the country round about! / The sort of view that makes you shout / For want of any better way / Of praising God: there's a blue bay / Shining in front, and on the right / Snowden and Hebog capped with white, / And lots of other jolly peaks / That you could wonder at for weeks, / With jag and spur and hump and cleft. / There's a grey castle on the left, / And back in the high Hinterland / You'll see the grave of Shawn Knarlbrand, / Who slew the savage Buffaloon / By the Nant-col one night in June, / And won his surname from the horn / Of this prodigious unicorn.