Aberamffra

Canon HD Rawnsley 

IV LOW TIDE IN THE ESTUARY, BARMOUTH.

The river failed as if a wizard’s wand

Had smote it; where dark Idris mirrored lay,

 Behind his woody skirts and range of grey,

 Was unreflecting waste and wrinkled sand;

 No life, no light, but here and there a band

 Of hyacinthine blue, that stole away,

 Like to a guilty thing, toward the bay,

 And left the boats heeled helpless on the strand.

 Then from the central sea a whisper came,

 The salt white water swam as smooth as oil,

 Swept o’er the shoals of sun and flickering gold.

 Other, but inconceivably the same,

 Incessant, but without a sign of toil,

 Renewing all, the generous tide was rolled.

Sonnets Round the Coast