Cicely Fox Smith

1 February 1882 – 8 April 1954 / Lymm, Cheshire

Romance

Morn, and a world of wonder! Oh, the time
Of winds like trumpet calls, and seas that gleam,
And sounding sunlit roads that wind and climb
Far over hills of dream, -

Travelled by knight and pedlar, prince and priest,
Past many an echoing port and ringing bridge,
To some black fortress like a couchant beast
Crouched on a mountain ridge, -

Fords perilous, and haunted reach and pool,
Far-shining spires under the blaze of noon,
And twilight shrines of visions wonderful,
Dusk and an angry moon.

Glimmer of ambush - dungeons, strange escapes,
Ships swinging on the swell of darkling tides,
And faerie forests full of eerie shapes,
Long, flickering, grass-grown rides.

Dark crooked streets with lights like peering eyes,
Plotters in half-lit halls of palaces,
Orchards and gardens full of lurking spies,
And whispering passages.

Travail and bondage, battle-flags unfurled,
Earth at the prime, and God earth's wrongs above,
Honour and hope, youth and the beckoning world,
Peril and war and love!
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