Night Is On The Downland

John Masefield

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Night is on the downland, on the lonely moorland,
On the hills where the wind goes over sheep-bitten turf,
Where the bent grass beats upon the unplowed poorland
And the pine-woods roar like the surf.

Here the Roman lived on the wind-barren lonely,
Dark now and haunted by the moorland fowl;
None comes here now but the peewit only,
And moth-like death in the owl.

Beauty was here in on this beetle-droning downland;
The thought of a Caesar in the purple came
From the palace by the Tiber in the Roman townland
To this wind-swept hill with no name.

Lonely Beauty came here and was here in sadness,
Brave as a thought on the frontier of the mind,
In the camp of the wild upon the march of madness,
The bright-eyed Queen of the Blind.

Now where Beauty was are the wind-withered gorses,
Moaning like old men in the hill-wind's blast;
The flying sky is dark with running horses,
And the night is full of the past.

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  • roberto0726

    just finished reading a poem by John Masefield and i realy liked how he described the night on the downland in such a vivid way. like when he said "the pine-woods roar like the surf". Gives a great sense of how wild and lonely that place is. Makes me think about how many stories those lands must hvae seen in past times. Good stuff for my homework tonight!

    • MelinaChappel

      Been reading some poetry for school. I loved the part when he said "the pine-woods roar like the surf." Such imagery!