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 :::THE HORIZON

ALE trees on the horizon grow, Pale, faint and dim and grey — Can they be real trees? They flow Into the mist away. Between us the valleys are green and wide, But what is beyond on the other side?

Beyond I see a wooden pier, Stretching into a shadowy lake. And a sudden cry of wild-fowl I hear As over the reeds their flight they take. Over the reeds and far away Beyond the trees, dim, pale and grey; A wooden pier — a shadowy pond. But what is beyond? What is beyond?

Beyond there is a long, long road. Bordered by ditches dark and wide. Where a wayfarer with a heavy load Talks to the silence at his side. Talks to the silence and talks to the trees. But what is beyond, beyond all these?

Beyond is a house with a ruined wall, Where the long road enters an ancient wood. And its rafters rot and sink and fall, And nothing disturbs its solitude,