Verse
Granite
Under the tor, where the stones lie
Lichened and old, and the dull sky
Shifts and mumbles, the gun-gulls cry
And the wires moan, in the shadows.
Black rain soaks into the trackways;
The river dances and decays;
And sheep like Celtic sponges graze
Where the peat breaks, in the shallows.
Deep dreamers stir, and hailstones leap
In rings of stone: the storm-clouds weep
Over the downs, where the dead sleep
Laid in granite, on the barrows.