- THE HORIZON
PALE trees on the horizon grow,
Pale, faint and dim and grey —
Can they be real trees? They flow
Into the mist away.
Between us the valleys are green and wide,
But what is beyond on the other side?
Beyond I see a wooden pier,
Stretching into a shadowy lake.
And a sudden cry of wild-fowl I hear
As over the reeds their flight they take.
Over the reeds and far away
Beyond the trees, dim, pale and grey;
A wooden pier — a shadowy pond.
But what is beyond? What is beyond?
Beyond there is a long, long road.
Bordered by ditches dark and wide.
Where a wayfarer with a heavy load
Talks to the silence at his side.
Talks to the silence and talks to the trees.
But what is beyond, beyond all these?
Beyond is a house with a ruined wall,
Where the long road enters an ancient wood.
And its rafters rot and sink and fall,
And nothing disturbs its solitude,
