With easy hands upon the rein,
And hounds at their horses feet,
The ladies and the gentlemen
Ride through the village street.

Brightness of blood upon the coats
And on the women’s lips:
Brightness of silver at the throats
And on the hunting whips.

Is there a dale more calm, more green
Under this morning hour;
A scene more alien than this scene
Within a world at war?

Who are these children gathered here
Out of the fire and smoke
That with remembering faces stare
Upon the foxing folk?