On The Road To Waterloo: 17 October...

It is grey tingling azure overhead With silver drift. Beneath, where from the green The trees are reared, the distance stands between At peace: and on this side the whole is spread For sowing and for harvest, subjected Clear to the sky and wind. The sun's slow height Holds it through noon, and at the furthest night It lies to the moist starshine and is fed. Sometimes there is no country seen (for miles You think) because of the near roadside path Dense with long forest. Where the waters run They have the sky sunk into them—a bath Of still blue heat; and in their flow, at whiles, There is a blinding vortex of the sun.