Green Slates

                    (Penpethy)

It happened once, before the duller
   Loomings of life defined them,
I searched for slates of greenish colour
   A quarry where men mined them;

And saw, the while I peered around there,
   In the quarry standing
A form against the slate background there,
   Of fairness eye-commanding.

And now, though fifty years have flown me,
   With all their dreams and duties,
And strange-pipped dice my hand has thrown me,
   And dust are all her beauties,

Green slates—seen high on roofs, or lower
   In waggon, truck, or lorry—
Cry out: ‘Our home was where you saw her
   Standing in the quarry!’