FROM THE BURREN
I
Leagues upon leagues spread these sun-warmed rocks,
While over my head the breeze swept by,
Grey was it, all grey, yet a grey so clear
That it shone self-lit, like some half-veiled sky.
“Are you rocks, mere rocks, bald earth?” I asked.
“Nay some Titan for sure hath hitherward strayed,
Touched your tops with a god’s own hand,
Over your surface some wild tune played;