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By a Cornish Brook
Near Coastal Cornish tin mines
I came to rest from weariness upon some iron rails
And watched the brooking swallows skim with forked and fan-stretched tails;
Where the Kerno masons’ hammers swung resounding iron on stone
I heard the echo, echo still: the ringing of blow on blow;
Still unseen notes reciprocate of tiny passerine
Caught on the breeze as summer’s song bourn on the staves of the
stream;
A Cornish blush from the salt of the seas has blessed my happiness
Whilst contemplating on the stone of cleavage, cut and dressed,
The leverage and heaviness that called in early years
Those quarriers back to granite tombs beneath a land that bears
Such gentleness and laughter breathed by the breath of Love
Eternal where Colossus lies departed to his God!
Beneath my rail, are little pot-holes, where songsters fit and burst
With a flurrying of feather-fans in the puddle-dusts of earth;
A laughter’s in the brook, and a joy in the trembling breasts
And colour too, in the singing of such notes in earnestness!
Whilst shadows in the watery light go dancing in a tide
Reflecting there the azure-blue from a sky that’s opened wide:
Such gentleness! Such laughter born by the breath of Love
Triumphant where Colossus lies departed to his God!
Where the mason-miner built and ‘rang’
With his grit and his granite-grinding strength,
Stand shrines in a silent echo-land
Above chasmic seams by coastal lengths.