By the Barrows by Thomas Hardy — Read

NOT far from Mellstock-so tradition saith- / Where barrows, bulging as they bosoms were / Of Multimammia stretched supinely there, / Catch night and noon the tempest's wanton breath,

A battle, desperate doubtless unto death, / Was one time fought. The outlook, lone and bare, / The towering hawk and passing raven share, / And all the upland round is called "The He'th."

Here once a woman, in our modern age, / Fought singlehandedly to shield a child- / One not her own-from a man's senseless rage. / And to my mind no patriots' bones there piled / So consecrate the silence as her deed / Of stoic and devoted self-unheed.