My Cicely (17-) (III)



(III)

No highwayman's trot blew the night-wind
To me so life-weary,
But only the creak of the gibbets
Or waggoners' jee.

Triple-ramparted Maidon gloomed grayly
Above me from southward,
And north the hill-fortress of Eggar,
And square Pummerie.

The Nine-Pillared Cromlech, the Bride-streams,
The Axe, and the Otter
I passed, to the gate of the city
Where Exe scents the sea;

Till, spent, in the graveacre pausing,
I learnt 'twas not my Love
To whom Mother Church had just murmured
A last lullaby.
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1 comment:

Nomad said...

'To whom Mother Church had just murmured
A last lullaby'

Hmm, a very good pair of lines; I like that.