I

The sky is dark and quiet as a pool.

And all the stones of Leathertor are still.

A little quick breeze stirs, and dies. A hawk

Hangs quivering, high over Lowery Hill.

Wide-eyed, a hare starts suddenly, and goes

With great uneasy leaps over the ground:

And all the valley, void of stir and breath,

Waits revelation flash and flood of sound.

II

Sudden upon the road's white ache

Great glaring raindrops hiss and splash.

Shall we, who fumble in the gloom,

Find wisdom in the lightening flash?

No fetter of retarding Time

Can bind this force omnipotent,

The Gods' bright dagger driven through

Our circles of bewilderment.

Soul, do not wince, but here await

The angry leaping of the light:

Either be stricken blind, or see

Henceforth with more than common sight.

L. A Strong - 1931