During the long days of English summer
The dust of its lanes is almost still
And hangs in the pilgrims air
Like gold dust from a perfect heaven
England is a right merry land
of all on earth it is the best
Richard of Gloucester
During the long days of English summer
The dust of its lanes is almost still
And hangs in the pilgrims air
Like gold dust from a perfect heaven
England is a right merry land
of all on earth it is the best
Richard of Gloucester