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On Eastnor Knoll

Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy Calling the cows home.

A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on The misty hill-tops.

Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are A silent army of phantoms thronging A land of shadows.

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John Masefield

John Edward Masefield OM (/ˈmeɪsˌfiːld, ˈmeɪz-/; 1 June 1878 – 12 May 1967) was an English poet and writer, and Poet Laureate from 1930 until 19…
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