This is the place where hills loom far, 
where the scattered farms and island are, 
and all the marching trees;
        
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                    This Is The Place
                    
                    This is the place where hills loom far, 
where the scattered farms and island are, 
and all the marching trees; 
where the fields lie sunny and roads twisted brown; 
where the warves are listning and tumble-down 
with salt tides round their knees.
This is the place where orchard boughs
are seaward cooked, and from each square house 
wood-smoke climbs the skies; 
where old farm wagons are painted blue, 
where every sail has a patch or two, 
and the windows shine like eyes.
Poem by Rachel Field, Poems for children,1924
                

 
                    