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.