{The Spirit of the Fell}[c4th April 1970ff (undated)]

[Redbook1:139A][19700404cff]{The Spirit of the Fell}[c4th April 1970ff (undated)]

The Spirit of the Fell

                                                The spirit of the Fell

                                                I brood upon the Moor

                                                Within the Moor I dwell

                                                I hold, I am the Key.

                                                I ride the wild wind free

                                                Which whistles through the dell,

                                                To strain and toss the tree

                                                That roars and bends, alone.

                                                Within the whine and moan

                                                The wild unearthly glee

                                                The shriek and crash and groan

                                                The agony of gale

                                                Upon the wind’s full sail

                                                Beneath the silver throne

                                                Beneath the star-specked trail

                                                Within the wind I blow.

                                                I sweep the moor, and low

                                                I swing my deadly flail;

                                                I reap the ground I sow:

                                                Rebounding hail, swift hurled

                                                That batters down my world,

                                                A curtain drifting, slow,

                                                Across the moors, ice-pearled,

                                                Beneath the rolling cloud,

                                                That beats the moor-things, cowed

                                                And trembling, fearful, curled

                                                And freezing, dying: bowed

                                                By weight of thunder head

                                                The mountains of their dread,

                                                Pitch-back, advancing proud

                                                To evil, quick but dead,

                                                Swift-seared by lightning-flash

                                                And swelling, deafening crash

                                                That rolled away and fled

                                                Then hissed again its lash;

                                                I ride upon the storm.

                                                I weave my shapeless form

                                                Into the mouse’s dash,

                                                The kestrels dive, the warm

                                                Unending days, sun-kissed.

                                                The waving grasses hissed;

                                                The bleak, unending norm

                                                Of moor surrounds the Cist

                                                That is my ancient Door,

                                                The centre of my Law.

                                                I hold the creeping mist

                                                I brood upon the moor

                                                The Spirit of the Fell.

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