Noel Thomas Carrington

Dartmoor

                IN sunlight and in shade,
Repose and storm, wide waste! I since have trod
Thy hill and dale magnificent. Again
I seek thy solitudes profound, in this
Thy hour of deep tranquillity, when rests
The sunbeam on thee, and thy desert seems
To sleep in the unwonted brightness, calm,
But stern; for, though the spirit of the Spring
Breathes on thee, to the charmer’s whisper kind
Thou listenest not, nor ever puttest on	
A robe of beauty, as the fields that bud
And blossom near thee. Yet I love to tread
Thy central wastes, where not a sound intrudes
Upon the ear but rush of wing or leap
Of the hoarse waterfall. And O, ’t is sweet
To list the music of thy torrent streams;
For thou too hast thy minstrelsies for him
Who from their liberal mountain-urn delights
To trace thy waters, as from source to sea
They rush tumultuous.