Two Views Of Withens

Above whorled, spindling gorse,

Sheepfoot-flattened grasses,

Stone wall and ridgepole rise

Prow-like through blurs

Of fog in that hinterland few

Hikers get to:

Home of uncatchable

Sage hen and spry rabbit,

Where second wind, hip boot

Help over hill

And hill, and through peaty water.

I found bare moor,

A colorless weather,

And the House of Eros

Low-lintelled, no palace;

You, luckier,

Report white pillars, a blue sky,

The ghosts, kindly.