Classic Poem

When into Yelverton I came
I found the bracken all aflame,
The tors in their unyielding line,
The air as comforting as wine,
The swinging wind, the singing sun
At Yelverton.

At Yelverton the moor is kind
And blows its healing through my mind,
The hunchback skyline lies a mist
Of purple and of amethyst,
And up and down the smooth roads run
At Yelverton.

At Yelverton a man may stand,
The whole of Devon within his hand,
The tors in their austerity,
And far away the basking sea,
A cloth of shining silver spun
At Yelverton.

At Yelverton a man may keep
Deep silence and a deeper sleep,
Yet know the brave recurring dream
Of kingly cider, queenly cream
To bless him when his days are done