Explore "Winter Trees on the Horizon" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O delicate! Even in wooded lands
They show the margin of my world,
My own horizon; little bands
Of twigs unveil that edge impearled.
And what is more mine own than this,
My limit, level with mine eyes?
For me precisely do they kiss --
The rounded earth, the rounding skies.
It has my stature, that keen line / (Let mathematics vouch for it).
The lark's horizon is not mine, / No, nor his nestlings' where they sit;
No, nor the child's. And, when I gain / The hills, I lift it as I rise / Erect; anon, back to the plain / I soothe it with mine equal eyes.