 When first I came here, by Edward Thomas, read for LibriVox.org by Anna Roberts. When first I came here I had hope, hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the side of the tall slope, or grass in use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something that no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down at the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at sight of any hill, although as fair and loftier. Or infinite the change, late unperceived this year, the twelfth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this, the future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas, read for LibriVox.org by Diana Meilinger in July 2009. When first I came here, I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the side of the tall slope, or grass in use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down at the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at sight of any hill, although as fair and loftier. For infinite the change late unperceived, this year the twelfth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as often one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this, the future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas, read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence. When first I came here I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope of grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down at the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at sight of any hill, although as fair and loftier. For infinite the change, late unperceived, this year, the twelfth, suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as often one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this, the future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas. Read for LibreVox.org by Ernst Batinama. Recorded on the 20th of July 2009, Amsterdam, The Netherlands. When first I came here I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope of grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and loftier. For infinite the change, late unperceived, this year, the twelfth, suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as often one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills, yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas, read for LibreVox.org by Elvira Shar. When first I came here, I had hope, hope for I knew not what, fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope of grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fail and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as often one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here, by Edward Thomas, read for LibreVox.org by Harry Caulfield. When first I came here, I had hope, hope for I knew not what, fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope of grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as often one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here, by Edward Thomas, read for LibreVox.org by Ling Tina. When first I came here, I had hope, hope for I knew not what, fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope or grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down at the last time, never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again, as often one brief hour witnesses, just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow, and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas, read for LibreVox.org by Miriam Coleman-Hipkins www.thisvoiceforyou.com When first I came here I had hope, hope for I know not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope or grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again as often as one brief hour witnesses. Just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hope for I know not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope or grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again as often one brief hour witnesses. Just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas. Read for LibriVox.org by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. When first I came here I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope or grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again as often one brief hour witnesses. Just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas. Read for LibriVox.org by Ryan Duramos. When first I came here I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope or grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite, the change late unperceived this year, the truth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again as often one brief hour witnesses. Just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. When first I came here I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. First beat my heart at the site of the tall slope of grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. For infinite the change, late unperceived this year. The twelfth suddenly shows me plain. Hope now, not health nor cheerfulness, since they can come and go again as often one brief hour witnesses. Just hope has gone forever. Perhaps I may love other hills yet more than this. The future and the maps hide something I was waiting for. One thing I know, that love with chance and use and time and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. When first I came here by Edward Thomas. Read for LibriVox.org by Raven Natation. When first I came here I had hope. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat my heart at the site of the tall slope or grass and use, as if my feet only by scaling its steps of chalk would see something no other hill ever disclosed. And now I walk down it the last time. Never will my heart beat so again at site of any hill, although as fair and love tear. End of poem. Hope and necessity will grow and louder the hearts dance at parting than at meeting be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.