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This is the hill!
Mournful against the sky, and bare,
Where wind and darkness meet,
Crucified in the air.
Mournful against the sky, and bare,
Where wind and darkness meet,
Crucified in the air.
And at its feet
Hills gather there,
Crowding, and casting lots
For a green cloak to wear.
***
The way that I have come,
Winding so cannily,
Is a brown zig-zag serpent
Alert along the tilting slopes,
Ready to leap and strike.
Hills gather there,
Crowding, and casting lots
For a green cloak to wear.
***
The way that I have come,
Winding so cannily,
Is a brown zig-zag serpent
Alert along the tilting slopes,
Ready to leap and strike.
And looking down
I fear its wily coils,
Knowing that I must tread them
To reach again the cluttered toys
In the valley—
Where I shall sleep to-night.
***
They say the sea was here;
And it is like the sea to-day.
I fear its wily coils,
Knowing that I must tread them
To reach again the cluttered toys
In the valley—
Where I shall sleep to-night.
***
They say the sea was here;
And it is like the sea to-day.
Waves, waves,
Green tides and tempests
Green tides and tempests
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