The Pagan

So here are you, and here am I, 

Where we may thank our gods to be; 

Above the earth, beneath the sky, 

Naked souls alive and free. 

The autumn wind goes rustling by 

And stirs the stubble at our feet; 

Out of the west it whispering blows, 

Stops to caress and onward goes, 

Bringing its earthy odours sweet. 

See with what pride the the setting sun 

Kinglike in gold and purple dies, 

And like a robe of rainbow spun 

Tinges the earth with shades divine. 

That mystic light is in your eyes 

And ever in your heart will shine.

 

 

George Orwell

Written autumn 1918 and sent to Jacintha Buddicom