Keats Walked Here
The mountainside outshines the twilight force
Above the highway and its cars. Their glass
And chrome presumably reflect the gorse,
Dark green and yellow, from the mountain pass
Back up, but weakly; colored echoes are
Too feeble. Bog plants made of subtle gold
And other autumn lights reduce the scar
Scraped harshly by a glacier. These tints scold
The ancient violence and turn it to
Pastel brocade, enrobing cliff-sheer face
In rich, concealing mask. Eons eschew
The evidence of cataclysm’s mace.
..This overhang was there when men placed stones
….In circles here below like ragged bones.
