‘a SONG OUT OF OXFORDSHIRE. Would we might see the crocus blow, Where Evenlode and Windrush flow, The purple fame by autumn seb For jewel in her carcanet, Where Evenlode and Windrush flow, Would we might see the wistful morn ain courage as she gilds the corn, And watch the evening’s valour die Like an enchanted memory As darkness comes and hides the corn. Would we might see the valley mist Once more by tender wreaths of mist, Until it seems that there must be The secret land of fairy Behind the rising wreaths of mist. Would we might tread again the road Where Windrush flows and Evenlode. And see the skies we see in dreams Lie mirrored in the singing streams in Windrush and in Evenlode. Ethel Clifford.