Christopher Laverty Biography

Away with Loneness - he whose winter bites,
who haunts the wasted wilderness and shores,
born in thunder on the misty moors;
who, bred by wolves, with howling fills the nights.
...

The sky is charged; a veil of frozen dew
enshrouds the earth; the distant hilltops wear
the evening's pall of sullen, sable hue.
Still is the wind. With cries that fill the air,
...

Cold is the air - still are the trees -
the clouds are streaked with red;
hushed are the birds as dusk descends
and here you lay your head.
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Disturb her not - she is not far;
she hears our voices - have no doubt.
Death does not her beauty mar -
not blow her candle wholly out.
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Old tales of knights and honour I have turned:
sat at baronial tables, seen a hall -
through plots I've overheard - now rise, now fall -
spied cloistered sighs, felt pangs of lovers spurned;
...