 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
189
XXVII. ON A MOORLAND RAILWAY.
Like a bronze snake the deep-run valley woundBy yellow cliff and alder-sprinkled dale;
High up we saw cool, silent cloudlets sail,
Beneath we heard the hot wheels pulsing round;
But eye and ear were wrapt as in a swound;
Another scene was born, the sky went pale,
The great sun died, on either side the rail
New lights, new glories, lay along the ground.
King of the year, high on his throne at last,
Sat August, and his robes went streaming wide
In purple state beyond imagining.
Our envious Firedrake flew in thunder past,
Threw here and there his colouds, yet could not hide
The royal splendour of the Moorland King.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |