The Rothers
So strange the east, that soon I turned
To watch the shining west appear :
Under a billow of smoke there burned
A belt of blinding silver,—sheer
White length of light,—wherefrom there shone
A round, white, dazzling, rayless sun.
There mirror-like it hung and blazed.
And all the earth below was strange.
And all the scene whereon I gazed
Even to the view-line's farthest range.
Hill, steeple, moor, all, near and far.
Was flat as shifting side-scenes are.
Lifeless, a country in the moon
It seemed, that white and vague expanse,
So substanceless and thin, that soon
I fell to wonder, by some chance
Of a sketcher's fancy — how would fare
The tones of flesh in that white glare?
A scruple of the painter's eye
Which notes all possible effect —
I scarcely daub, but I love to try.
Full of the whim, I recollect,
I stretched my own right arm and gazed :
The hand showed black where the sunlight blazed.
Too near, too near ! I smiled and turned,
I shook the reins and rode away.
Glanced where the eastern forest burned
With its gold-green oaks. But who were they
In the phaeton, there, beneath the trees ?
Let 'em prove my fancy ! A grip of the knees,
I reached them. Why, the Thorns they were!
The Thorns, livid and clear and plain
In the ugly light. Nor could I dare
Enquire if my friend were at ease or in pain.
So bitter-sour looked Maudie's mouth,
The whole face dried like grass in a drouth,
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