Thursday, October 3, 2013

Upon the Howgill Fells

A poised and gentle brooding light,
in deep and golden honeyed waves,
enfolds all earnest thinking here,
the labours of constant recollection,
the shifting-shadows which lay behind
half-closed eyes - such cogs and wheels!
such soft machinery of feverish thought!
And yet such gravity upon these lands,
these barren hills, as a snowy moon
ascends unrushed into clean-swept skies,
greeting from afar the wilting sun
slipping down into comfortable shade,
in serene late-summer, at the ragged end
of this ruinous and desperate day.

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