Echorus Edna Mitchell

White fog lifting & falling on mountain-brow
Trees moving in rivers of wind
The clouds arise
As on a wave, gigantic eddy lifting mist
Above teeming ferns exquisitely swayed
Along a green crag
Glimpsed thru mullioned glass in valley raine—

Bardic, O Self, Visitacione, tell naught
But what seen by one man in a vale in Albion
Of the folk, whose physical sciences end in Ecology
The wisdom of earthly relations
Of mouths & eyes interknit ten centuries visible
Orchards of mind language manifest human
Of the satanic thistle that raises its horned symmetry
Flowеring above sister grass-daisies’ pink tiny
Bloomlеts angelic as lightbulbs—

Remember 160 miles from London’s symmetrical thorned tower
& network of TV pictures flashing bearded your Self
The lambs on the tree-nooked hillside this day bleating
Heard in Blake’s old ear, & the silent thought of Wordsworth in eld Stillness
Clouds passing through skeleton arches of Tintern Abbey—
Bard Nameless as the Vast, babble to Vastness!

All the Valley quivered, one extended motion, wind
Undulating on mossy hills
A giant wash that sank white fog delicately down red runnels
On the mountainside
Whose leaf-branch tendrils moved asway
In granitic undertow down—
And lifted the floating Nebulous upward, and lifted the arms of the trees
And lifted the grasses an instant in balance
And lifted the lambs to hold still
And lifted the green of the hill, in one solemn wave