It is calm.
It is as though
we lived in a garden
that had not yet arrived
at the knowledge of

I have been all men known to histo
Wondering at the world and at time
I have seen evil, and the light bl
Innocent love under a spring sky.
I have been Merlin wandering in t

Coming home was to that:
The white house in the cool grass
Membraned with shadow, the bright
Of stream that was its looking—gla
And smoke growing above the roof

We were a people taut for war; the
Were no harder, the thin grass
Clothed them more warmly than the
Shirts our small bones.
We fought, and were always in retr

You go up the long track
That will take a car, but is best
On slow foot, noting the lichen
That writes history on the page
Of the grey rock. Trees are about

“Listen, now, verse should be as n
As the small tuber that feeds on m
And grows slowly from obtuse soil
To the white flower of immortal be
“Natural, hell! What was it Chauc

Looking upon this tree with its qu
Of holding the earth, a leveret, i
Or marking the texture of its livi
A grey sea wrinkled by the winds o
I understand whence this man’s bod

I look out over the timeless sea
over the head of one, calendar
to time’s passing, who is now open
at the last month, her hair wintry
Am I catalyst of her mettle that,

I am, as you know, Walter Llywarc
Born in Wales of approved parents
Well goitred, round in the bum,
Sure prey of the slow virus
Bred in quarries of grey rain.

The idiot goes round and around
With his brother in a bumping car
At the fair. The famous idiot
Smile hangs over the car’s edge,
Illuminating nothing. This is man