Sunday, July 26, 2009

"Above yon sombre swell of land
Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue,
With one pale streak like yellow sand,
And over that a vein of blue.

The air is cold above the woods,
All silent is the earth and sky,
Except with his own lonely moods
The Blackbird holds a colloquy."

"A-dying mid the autumn-scented haze,
That hangeth o'er the hollow in the wold,
Where the wind-bitten ancient elms enfold
Grey church, long barn, orchard, and red-roofed stead,
Wrought in dead days for men a long while dead."
- Wm. Morris

photo credit: Mark Robinson

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