Transformed By Light
A lonely gull cries from within the gloom
Of ghostly dawn, where the grey mist gathers.
Except for this, the silence of the tomb
Suffuses life itself : worst of weathers.
The cold, bone-numbing fog pervading all
Now leeches light and colour from the vale,
Reduces beech trees that were proud and tall
To shallow silhouettes so vague and pale.
A feint light glimmering from across the hills
Expands in brightness. Then the sun appears
In cloudy porthole; through the grey it spills
Upon the grateful fields. All nature hears
The call of Spring; the rising sap, the skylark sings
With mystic charm that breathes new life in mortal things.
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