On the night there are shown dim few stars timorous
And light is smothered in a cloak of fear.
Are these hills out? Then night has brooded there
Of dark things till they were no more for us.

Gone are the strict falls, there is no skyline boundary,
The stars are not resting or coming to rest.
What will dawn show? A land breathing calm of breast,
Or a frightened rook-wheeling plain once bed of the sea?