THE MOOR
The world's gone forward to its latest fair
And dropt an old man done with by the way,
To sit alone among the bats and stare
At miles and miles and miles of moorland bare
Lit only with last shreds of dying day.
Not all the world, not all the world's gone by;
Old man, you're like to meet one traveller still,
A journeyman well kenned for courtesy