The blackbird sang, the skies were clear and clean <br />We bowled along a road that curved a spine <br />Superbly sinuous and serpentine <br />Thro' silent symphonies of summer green. <br />Sudden the Forth came on us--sad of mien, <br />No cloud to colour it, no breeze to line: <br />A sheet of dark, dull glass, without a sign <br />Of life or death, two spits of sand between. <br />Water and sky merged blank in mist together, <br />The Fort loomed spectral, and the Guardship's spars <br />Traced vague, black shadows on the shimmery glaze: <br />We felt the dim, strange years, the grey, strange weather, <br />The still, strange land, unvexed of sun or stars, <br />Where Lancelot rides clanking thro' the haze.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-queensferry/
