“EX UMBRIS ET IMAGINIBUS IN VERITATEM”
On the high frosty fields afoot at dawn
I start:—with rarest mist the vale below
Brims like a milky cup, the elm-tops show
As floating islets, not a sound is borne
Up from the river, shadowy on the lawn
Two monstrous pheasants fight and strangely low
The white sun peers between a spectral row
Of quicksets spanned by spider-webs untorn.
And the return:—the high sun over-head,
The fair sleek fallows spread before my sight,
The garrulous clear waters in their bed
Of greenest sedge, the multitudinous flight
Of little wings—O miracle of light—
The self-same track, with all the shadows fled.