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letra de on the cliff - arthur somervell

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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 sh-ll, of a weed no trace:
sunshine outside, but ice at the core
death’s altar by the lone shore
on the turf, sprang g-y
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 b-ttеrfly:
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!

- arthur somervell

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