|
WHAT time the meanest brick and stone Take on a beauty not their own, And past the flaw of builded wood Shines the intention whole and good, And all the little homes of man Rise to a dimmer, nobler span; When colour's absence gives escape To the deeper spirit of the shape, -- Then earth's great architecture swellls Among her mountains and her fells Under the moon to amplitude Massive and primitive and rude: -- Then do the clouds like silver flags< Stream out above the tattered crags, And black and silver all the coast Marshals its hunched and rocky host, And headlands striding sombrely Buttress the land against the sea, -- The darkened land, the brightening waave -- And moonlight slants through Merlin's cave. Victoria Sackville-West |
