You talk of pale primroses,
Of frail and fragrant posies,
The cowslip and the cuckoo-flower
that scent the spring-time lea.
But give to me the heather,
The honey-scented heather,
The glowing gipsy heather--
The glowing gipsy heather--
That is the flower for me!
You love the garden alleys,
Smooth-shaven lawns and valleys,
The cornfield and the shady lane, and
fisher-sails at sea.
But give to me the moorland,
The noble purple moorland,
The free, far-stretching moorland--
That is the land for me!
--Flora Thompson