Auvergne, Auvergne, O wild and woful land,
⁠O glorious land and gracious, white as gleam
The stairs of heaven, black as a flameless brand,
⁠Strange even as life, and stranger than a dream,

Could earth remember man, whose eyes made bright
⁠The splendour of her beauty, lit by day
Or soothed and softened and redeemed by night,
⁠Wouldst thou not know what light has passed away?

Wouldst thou not know whom England, whom the world,
⁠Mourns? For the world whose wildest ways he trod,
And smiled their dangers down that coiled and curled
⁠Against him, knows him now less man than god.