55670: The Combe

<p dir="ltr"> The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.<br> Its mouth is stopped with bramble, thorn, and briar;<br> And no one scrambles over the sliding chalk<br> By beech and yew and perishing juniper<br> Down the half precipices of its sides, with roots<br> And rabbit holes for steps. The sun of Winter,<br> The moon of Summer, and all the singing birds<br> Except the missel-thrush that loves juniper,<br> Are quite shut out. But far more ancient and dark<br> The Combe looks since they killed the badger there,<br> Dug him out and gave him to the hounds,<br> That most ancient Briton of English beasts.<br></p>