Battered elm and thorn-tree shoulder rock and ledge,
Here a sudden curve, tender green, beswitching,
There a bare and barren stretch, void of tree or hedge.
Swift fly the shadows, darting down the reaches,
Cloud-races run on a wide aerial course;
Lights born and fading on your solitary vastness,
Shining but to bring to light some fading patch of gorse.
Ancient battered oaks, sere, and bald and sapless,
Through their lichened branches your current twists and heaves,
Mossy green or olive, the sheeny ripples glitter,