We lay and ate the sweet hurt-berries
In the bracken of Hurt Wood.
Like a quire of singers singing low
The dark pines stood.

Behind us climbed the Surrey Hills,
Wild, wild in greenery;
At our feet the downs of Sussex broke
To an unseen sea.

And life was bound in a still ring,
Drowsy, and quiet and sweet…
When heavily up the south-east wind
The great guns beat.

We did not wince, we did not weep,
We did not curse or pray;
We drowsily heard, and someone said,
‘They sound clear today’.

We did not shake with pity and pain,
Or sicken and blanch white.
We said, ’If the wind’s from over there
There’ll be rain tonight’.

Readings

From Picnic, July 1917 read by Alicia Vikander
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Emilia Fox
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Harriet Walter
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Kelly Reilly
Select reading
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Alicia Vikander
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Emilia Fox
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Harriet Walter
From Picnic, July 1917 read by Kelly Reilly
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