The old city is darkly hid beneath night's heavy gown,
And nothing stirs below in our medieval town.
The sun's first rays like golden spears come shining through,
Pale first, then brighter, lighting trees and sparkling dew.
At once the dawning chorus breaks and echos all around,
Cuckoo, thrush and blackbird all fill the air with sound.
The winding river's rising mist, pool and hollow fills
Hiding towers and rooting spires, seen from yonder hills.
The tall stone facets buried there blending with the green,
Changing not in war or peace a testimony seen
Of the constancy there built in every learned hall,
While round about inconstant men come and rise and fall.
Sunday, July 1, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: dawn ,memory
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
One of the homes we lived in was on William Street in Marston, up at the top of the hill. My room was in the attic, and I could look down on the City of Oxford. Mornings were striking at dawn when the plain was mist-covered and only the college spires could be seen protruding through the thick blanket hanging over the river.