The road winds white among ashen hills
grey clouds overhead
grey sea below.
The road clings to the strong capes
hangs above the white foam-line
of unheard breakers
that edge with lace the scarf of the sea
sweeping marbled with sunlight
to the dark horizon
towards which steering intently
like ducks with red bellies
swim the black laden steamers.
The wind blows the dust of the road
and whines in the dead grass
and is silent.
I can hear my steps
and the clink of coins in one pocket
and the distant hush of the sea.
_On the highroad to Villajoyosa_
XX
SIERRA GUADARRAMA
TO J. G. P.
The greyish snow of the pass
is starred with the sad lilac
of autumn crocuses.
Hissing among the brown leaves
of the scruboaks
bruising the tender crocus petals
a sleetgust sweeps the pass.
The air is calm again.
Under a bulging sky motionless overhead
the mountains heave velvet black
into the cloudshut distance.
South the road winds
down a wide valley
towards stripes of rain
through which shine straw yellow
faint as a dream
the rolling lands of New Castile.
A fresh gust whines through the snowbent grass
pelting with sleet the withering crocuses,
and rustles the dry leaves of the scruboaks
with a sound as of gallop of hoofs
far away on the grey stony road
a sound as of faintly heard cavalcades
of old stern kings
climbing the cold iron passes
stopping to stare with cold hawkeyes
at the pale plain.
_Puerto de Navecerrada_