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Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
Vague, in a silver sheen Rayed from their armour green, Some aged limes upstand; Nigh fields kindle and shine: Beauty incarnadine! What thrill of what Uranian wine So flushed the placid land? All tints of a broken wave Light the leafy architrave, Far up the cloudy spring; And the ploughed soil ruddier glows Than the ruby or the rose, Or the moon, when the harvest goes Beneath her blazing wing. Trees keep the broad outpost; Dusk, by their dusky host, Long-loved Severn glides. Thence, towards the hilly south, Like a queen, battle-wroth, Upon a vermeil saddle-cloth, The three-spired city rides.
Louise Imogen Guiney
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