Spilling down stark stone-stepped outcrops
Plunge unnumbered waterfalls at Cray,
Curtains of suspended raindrops
Hang like gauzy lace in silver spray.
Cool deep pools, so still and silent,
Wait to welcome, to their rippling store
Sweet refreshment from the high land
That these tumbling, tippling torrents pour.
Fleecy sheep bedeck the hillsides,
Dots of fluffy down, amongst the green
Wizened thorn-trees stand alongsides
Shedding windswept bleakness on the scene.
Whitened, polished limestone pavement,
Age-withstanding relict of the past,
Stands with haughty, grudged amazement
At the waterfalls which sport and splash.
All the while, the old White Lion
Watches wistfully the gurgling gill
As its waters fleetly fly on
From the lonely inn upon the hill.
Tiny hamlet, in the summer,
Silent fall your rock-strewn dry-stream beds
Leaving hillsides sad and glummer
As the cotton-grasses shake their heads.
Till, refreshing moors and flowers,
Raindrops rouse the sun-baked becks to leap;
In the sudden pouring showers
Beauty comes to waken Cray from sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem