On the Cliff

Lyrics
I leaned on the turf I looked at a rock Left dry by the surf; For the turf, to call it grass were to mock: Dead to the roots, so deep was done The work of the summer sun And the rock lay flat As an anvil's face: No iron like that! Baked dry; of a shell, of a weed no trace: Sunshine outside, but ice at the core Death's altar by the lone shore On the turf, sprang gay With his films of blue No cricket, I'll say But a warhorse, barded and chanfroned too The gift of a quixote-mage to his knight Real fairy, with wings all right On the rock, they scorch Likе a drop of fire From a brandished torch Fall two red fans of a buttеrfly: No turf, no rock: in their ugly stead See, wonderful blue and red! Is it not so With the minds of men? The level and low The burnt and bare, in themselves; but then With such a blue and red grace, not theirs Love settling unawares!
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Credits
- Writers
- Arthur Somervell
- Robert Browning