In the trough of night,
in lonely darkness of walking,
the world plants no new questions.
Just a torchlit circle,
a mean weak circle,
And an unmetalled road.
And always a rythmn,
an easy, rythmn
- I cut the torch.
The pines stretch
to snoring mountain
white capped
his foot in streams.
The crowding pines
a bed of heather
the sleeping pit
a well of stars.
A wild country
wild universe above
and light enough
to see Loch Tulla:
Small, frozen planet!
Jewel of the universe!
Silent motion through the wastes.
Small mind without bounds!
Marvel of life!
In the sleeping night.
In its waters a jewel
a pearl reflected
and darkly stir
the forest creatures.
the owl is watching
the deer avoids me
the crackling forest
the sap-strong pines.
On frozen heather
my presence noted:
my bed is made.
Tufts graze my cheek.
A grey wheel galaxy.
In the trough of night,
in lonely darkness of watching,
the world grows large as heaven.
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