No More Learning

90

While, near the midway cliff, the silvered kite
In many a whistling circle wheels her flight;
Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace
Travel along the precipice's base;
Cheering its naked waste of           stone, 95
By lichens grey, and scanty moss, o'ergrown;
Where scarce the foxglove peeps, or [23] thistle's beard;
And restless [24] stone-chat, all day long, is heard.