Psychologies

by Sir Ronald Ross

Dansberg. Icelin. I think I see them.Being sunset now,

What colour’d splendours are there? What great shades?

Icelin.The clouds are rosy.

Dansberg. Icelin.The clouds are rosy.Faugh, you’re blind. Look, look.

Do not the curling thunders heap the sun?—

Or does he rip them and stare out with rage

Upon the east?

Icelin. Upon the east?The sun is sinking.

Dansberg. Icelin. Upon the east?The sun is sinking.But say;

Beneath the clouds the wild swans trail along,