A highway white with dust that winds amid
An undulating stretch of breezy down,
Whose ruggedness by spreading ferns is hid-
Four miles from any town.
Around the sandy hollows on the heath
The blackberry vines in prickly clusters run,
And hang, a pendent hedge, where pools beneath
Lie winking in the sun.
And overhead the fork-tailed martin speeds-
A living arrow in the stilly air;
Along the bank, amongst the rusty reeds,
The newts dart here and there.
The far-off hills are dotted white with sheep,
And by the little footpath’s rambling course
A tiny beck that murmurs in its sleep
Trickles beneath the gorse.
In silver curves across the heathy land
Widen and wind the waters of the rill
Around the meadows’ sloping sides where stand
The ruins of a mill.
A lonely signpost rises by the way
And points its gaunt grey arms across the dale
As though it mocked, for weather and decay
Have blotted out its tale.
Half hidden by a mass of tangled weed
A sunken milestone stands a-near the place,
So mossed and weather-stained one scarce can read
The legend on its face.
Here in the days gone by the bustling coach
With loud tantivy rattled gaily past,
And hill and upland greeted its approach
With many an answering blast.
Across the lonely common, too, intent
Upon his trade of plunder, it is told,
How riding, laced and visored, came and went
The highwayman of old.
‘Tis evening now, and in the glassy mere
Floats the reflected moon-a lotus flow’r-
And from some distant spire ring low and clear
The bells that chime the hour.
From the dwarf oak a tangled creeper swings,
And robed in purple mist, the hills afar
Seem to the eye of fancy crowned like kings,
Each crown a flashing star.
The fretful nightjar stays its dismal tune,
The sunset dwindles, duskier grow the heights,
And the grey belt of the horizon soon
Is jeweli’d with twinkling lights.
Now like a censer every flower’s cup,
Swung to and fro exhales a dewy scent,
And all the voices of the night go up
In murmurs of content.
And every voice is full of strange appeal,
And every wind of mystic whisperings
From lips unseen, as seeking to reveal
The secret soul of things.
For night has made a truce to doubts and fears,
And cast her magic spells upon the mind
Which sees a thought in every star and hears
It uttered by the wind.
So shall it be-the vision yet shall stay,
Or on far seas, or in the clamorous town,
Or back upon that long white road, astray
Four miles from any town.
(David Gow)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Light Poems, Mind Poems, Faces Poems, Place Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Fear Poems, Past Poems, Running Poems, Secrets PoemsBased on Keywords: creeper, dwindles, mossed, heathy, footpath, a-near, milestone, signpost, highwayman, duskier, be-the