This poem was first published in Songs in Wiltshire in 1909, and also appeared in Selected Poems (1925). The first version ran to 84 lines, but it was edited and reduced to just 32 lines for its second publishing.
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Longer version (1909):

The friendship of a hill I know
   Above the rising down,
Where the balmy souther breezes blow
   But a mile or two from town;
The budded broom and heather
   Are wedded on its breast,
And I love to wander thither
   When the sun is in the west.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.

Long ere the trailing shadows stalk
   In the early morning hour,
Our childish tongues begin to wallk
   Above the high hill-tower;
Ere the woodman leaves his shelter,
   Or the shepherd seeks his fold,
While the wooly conies skelter
   Along the coltsfoot gold.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.

High over all the meadow-parks
   Thy taper crest aspires,
And a thousand subtle-singing larks
   Have roused thee with desires;
Where thy sloping left arm reaches
   To acquaint the growing morn
A score of plumy beeches
   Thy yellow locks adorn.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.

Here where the tyrant of the sky
   Smokes slant athwart the stream
Beneath thy gathered locks I lie
   In the hollow depths of dream;
The green leaves clap together
   With the music of the seas
And about the bloomy heather
   Hums the college of the bees.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.

No other monument hast thou
   To point the hills around,
But the crescent scar upon thy brow
   Of the bloody battle mound;
The ploughman spares the furrow
   For the yielding meadow-zones,
While the timid conies burrow
   Among thy ribbed bones.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.

No rushing torrent thunders down
   Like an arrow in its flight,
Or piny forest clothes thy crown
   And intercepts thy sight;
But a hundred squares and hollows
   Close-gathered round thy feet,
With clovers and with fallows,
   And the golden-bearded wheat.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.

A thousand years will come and go,
   And thousands more will rise,
My buried bones to dust will grow,
   And dust defile my eyes;
But when the lark sings o'er the wold
   And the swallow weaves her nest,
My soul will take the coltsfoot gold
   And blossom in thy breast.

O thou bonny high hill!
   I covet no other;
Our secrets we tell,
   For we love one another.


Shorter version (1925):

The friendship of a hill I know
   Above the rising down,
Where the balmy souther breezes blow
   But a mile or two from town;
The budded broom and heather
   Are wedded on its breast,
And I love to wander thither
   When the sun is in the west.

As birds within the woodland walk,
   In the early morning hour,
Our childish tongues begin to talk
   Above the high hill-tower;
Ere the woodman leaves his shelter,
   Or the shepherd seeks his fold,
While the wooly conies skelter
   Along the coltsfoot gold.

No other monument hast thou
   To point the hills around,
But the crescent scar upon thy brow
   Of the bloody battle mound;
A hundred squares and hollows
   Close-gathered at thy feet,
With clovers and with fallows,
   And the golden-bearded wheat.

A thousand years will come and go,
   And thousands more will rise,
My buried bones to dust will grow,
   And dust defile my eyes;
But when the lark sings o'er the wold
   And the swallow weaves her nest,
My soul will take the coltsfoot gold
   And blossom in thy breast.


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