 | Under the dawn |  |
[1]
I journeyed by wild marshes yesterday,
Where lonely bands of wandering cattle fed,
With here and there a straw-stack or a shed,
And all the skies were overhung with grey;
It was a dismal region, yet I say
That many swift and pleasing fancies sped
Throughout me, nor was rapture wholly dead;
No lack of colour poesy can slay.
Where lonely bands of wandering cattle fed,
With here and there a straw-stack or a shed,
And all the skies were overhung with grey;
It was a dismal region, yet I say
That many swift and pleasing fancies sped
Throughout me, nor was rapture wholly dead;
No lack of colour poesy can slay.
In that dim waste I seemed to apprehend
A spirit present, lordly and as fair
As any whose bright sceptre doth extend
Thro' viewless avenues of mountain air,
Or over slopes where clustering birches bend,
And many a scudding goshawk finds his lair.
A spirit present, lordly and as fair
As any whose bright sceptre doth extend
Thro' viewless avenues of mountain air,
Or over slopes where clustering birches bend,
And many a scudding goshawk finds his lair.
| Under the dawn | |