If I may quote from the excellent if gloomy A.E.Housman: These well known lines come from his collection of poetry "A Shropshire Lad" published before the first world war.
Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again.
And here are my own personal Blue Remembered Hills. in the far distance is the Vale of the White Horse, overlooking Wantage, and one time home to another poet hero of mine, John Betjeman
So, in those carefree childhood days, before the dead hand of adulthood falls upon all of us, I lived on the arable farm in the far distance, the one with the red tiled old stone barn. These long evening shadows would grace the sunlit summer school holidays and we played in the fields and lanes.
Perhaps we all have our own Blue Remembered Hills, our own land of lost content. Perhaps Housman speaks to all of us, whether Berkshire Lad or not.