|ELCore.Net > Poetry > Catholic Poets > Poems of Alice Meynell|
|Winter Trees on the Horizon|
O delicate! Even in wooded lands|
They show the margin of my world,
My own horizon; little bands
Of twigs unveil that edge impearled.
And what is more mine own than this,|
My limit, level with mine eyes?
For me precisely do they kiss
The rounded earth, the rounding skies.
It has my stature, that keen line,|
(Let mathematics vouch for it).
The lark’s horizon is not mine,
No, nor his nestlings’ where they sit;
No, nor the child’s. And, when I gain|
The hills, I lift it as I rise
Erect; anon, back to the plain
I soothe it with mine equal eyes.
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Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created April 14, 2001; not revised.