Under the fold things might be safe and under the fold things might be thick and warm and under the fold might we find a place to be still. There is the denseness of wool and skin, nothing to let the daylight in, only the fold and the towering downs.
Let the church bells clamour and the child fumble at the organ, the teacher indulgent. Let the smoke from the almshouse chimney stream; let the trout slide in the shallows. Let the font be bolted, let the dark magic dry out. Let the fold be, and be in the fold.