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

A solid mass of Heaven, mist-infused, ebbs thru the vale

A wavelet of Immensity, lapping gigantic through Llanthony Valley

The length of all England, valley upon valley under Heaven’s ocean

Tonned with cloud-hang

—Heaven balanced on a grassblade

Roar of the mountain wind slow, sigh of the body

One Being on the mountainside stirring gently

Exquisite scales trembling everywhere in balance

One motion thru the cloudy sky-floor shifting on the million feet of daisies

One Majesty the motion that stirred wet grass quivering

To the farthest tendril of white fog poured down

Through shivering flowers on the mountain’s head—

No imperfection in the budded mountain

Valleys breathe, heaven and earth move together

Daisies push inches of yellow air, vegetables tremble

Grass shimmers green

Sheep speckle the mountainside, revolving their jaws with empty eyes

Horses dance in the warm rain

Tree-lined canals network live farmland

Blueberries fringe stone walls on hawthorn’d hills

Pheasants croak on meadows haired with fern—

Out, out on the hillside, into the ocean sound, into delicate gusts of wet air

Fall on the ground, O great Wetness, O Mother, No harm on your body!

Stare close, no imperfection in the grass

Each flower Buddha—eye, repeating the story

Myriad-formed—

Kneel before the foxglove raising green buds, mauve bells dropped

Doubled down the stem trembling antennae

& look in the eyes of the branded lambs that stare

Breathing stockstill under dripping hawthorn—

I lay down mixing my beard with the wet hair of the mountainside

Smelling the brown vagina-moist ground, harmless

Tasting the violet thistle-hair, sweetness—

One being so balanced, so vast, that its softest breath

Moves every floweret in the stillness on the valley floor

Trembles lamb-hair hung gossamer rain—beaded in the grass

Lifts trees on their roots, birds in the great draught

Hiding their strength in the rain, bearing same weight

Groan thru breast and neck, a great Oh! to earth heart

Calling our Presence together

The great secret is no secret

Senses fit the winds

Visible is visible

Rain-mist curtains wave through the bearded vale

Gray atoms wet the wind’s kabbala

Crosslegged on a rock in dusk rain

Rubber booted in soft grass, mind moveless

Breath trembles in white daisies by the roadside

Heaven breath and my own symmetric

Airs wavering thru antlered green fern

Drawn in my navel, same breath as breathes thru Capel-Y-Ffn

Sounds of Aleph and Aum

Through forests of gristle

My skull and Lord Hereford’s Knob equal

All Albion one

What did I notice? Particulars! The

Vision of the great One is myriad—

Smoke curls upward from ashtray

House fire burned low

The night, still wet & moody black heaven

Starless

Upward in motion with wet wind