You who look long and look so steadfastly
At Bradda reared against the afterglow,
Etched in his outline a dark silhouette
Hemmed with gold filaments, what do you see?
There, as the faithful lens can quickly show,
Are rocks of umber, cave-mouths black as jet,
And all his length adorned with greenery.
Is that the Bradda that you love and know?
Or do you see what mind can ne’er forget,
The scene of first love’s sacred ecstasy,
Where every blade shone like a hero’s lance,
Where every rock peak was a chancel spire,
Where every tree and bush were lit with fairy fire,
And heaven itself abode in every glance?
Weekly Times 19.1.62