On Nature

Upon the grey and infinite sky

On the somber fleets of which I try

And in the council of great contest

My fire wants, and has, all but rest

An urge, a shake, a twitch in thought

A stone I wish I had forgot

And as it bears a weight of ore

I ask for silence, and nothing more

Your hues of light, your shades of blue

Are but sweet, and oh so few

A gaze, a stare, a hidden lore

Bid me not, as thy art is sore

In the fields of dusk and dawn

A prayer of fear as I go on

For violets grace the bells that toll

And he has lost by heaven’s soul

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.