I gaze upon the granite moor and mark the summit of the tor;
And all around the windswept green, changing hue to shades between.
While over where the sky casts down, the sea shows off her bluest gown,
As Kernow’s cliffs, in sheer array, present a backcloth to the bay.
Along the hills, the craggy rock, the autumn heathers run amok,
While angled trees all weather-bow’d, with deadening leaves the moorland shroud.
The distant line of whiter peaks marks where the miner kaolin seeks
And over there, in isolation, a tin shaft breaks the vegetation.
No soul in sight, nor bird nor beast, to share in this autumnal feast
As ribbon’d over moorland plain, the road injects its man-made vein;
A cottage here and yonder farm add to Kernow’s rustic charm
And still I sit with nought a care, breathing in the evening air.
The sun moves west and casts its glow across the landscape far below;
As light retreats the colour fades, advancing night’s more sombre shades.
I am at peace in my fair land, in Kernow’s beauteous magic strand;
Here do I live and here I’ll die and in its earth eternal lie.