It's February and a dismal day.
Coal black cloud has robbed us of the sun.
I wander mopish on my clifftop way
and don't perhaps look forward to much fun.
When suddenly, a glory not expected,
a gleam, a glare, a brightness from the sea,
the sun's face hidden still but so reflected
my winter shadow has crept home to me!
Now too is warmth. On Weston heights I rest
at th' bench on th' beetling cliff, bask in the bright
mirror of sea, there to watch our good knight best
his dragon, to watch where dark is slain by light.