In the clear cold the dales grow blue and tremble; The iron hoofs beat sharply, knock on knock. The faded grasses in wide skirts assemble Flung copper where the wind-blown branches rock. From empty straths, a slender arch ascending: Fog curls upon the air and, moss-wise, grows, And evening, low above the wan streams bending, In their white waters washes his blue toes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS FOR TWO SEASONS: 1. AFTER GRAVE ILLNESS by CAROL FROST THE WINDMILL by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES IN HOSPITAL: 4. BEFORE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE WINDHOVER: TO CHRIST OUR LORD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA by HERMAN MELVILLE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 16. TO CALEB HARDINGE, M.D. by MARK AKENSIDE |