I am the land of their fathers, In me the virtue stays;I will bring back my children, After certain days.

Under their feet in the grasses My clinging magic runs.

They shall return as strangers, They shall remain as sons.

Over their heads in the branches Of their new-bought, ancient trees, I weave an incantation, And draw them to my knees.

Scent of smoke in the evening, Smell of rain in the night, The hours, the days and the seasons Order their souls aright;Till I make plain the meaning Of all my thousand years Till I fill their hearts with knowledge, While I fill their eyes with tears.