Wessex Heights

Where the rude wind has blown we live, The eve distills, while shadows that climb, Touch through leagues and through hours to view The blue of the skies in late time.

Rain gone mountain, sea-born stillness drips; What faith more loves these heights—and know, Who passes by, shall grow aglow,” For only the moon in dust shall glip— These golden hours in ending blur— To touch nature’s gentleness almost!”

• Thomas Hardy