Classic Poem

Oppressive with its vacant weight,
The moorland stretches desolate,
And like a wound the sunset bleeds
Across a weary waste of weeds.

A tarn is fed by sluggish rills,
Branching like veins across the hills,
And darkened by a wind that flings
The passing shadow of his wings.

Save where one torture-twisted tree
Shrieks out in silent agony,
Oppressive with its vacant weight,
The moorland stretches desolate.

A grey hawk at a dizzy height
Thrills with its sharp suspended flight,
And like a soft, insidious kiss
The snakes within the heather hiss.

To where as in a monstrous birth
The red moon struggles from the earth,
Oppressive with its vacant weight,
The moorland stretches desolate.