Towards democracy

450 Towards Democracy

The peacock flew from its tree overhead to the East and into the Night. ;

SHEFFIELD

HERE a spur of the moors runs forward into the _ great town, And above the squalid bare steep streets, over a deserted © quarry, the naked rock lifts itself into the light, . There, lifted above the smoke, I stood, And below lay Sheffield. — :

The great wind blew over the world,

The great soft Southwest, making a clear light along the far horizon ; '

The sky overhead was serenest’ blue, and here and there a solitary white cloud scudded swiftly below it.

The great soft wind! How it blew in gusts as it would unroot the very rocks, eddying and whistling round the angles!

The great autumnal wind! bearing from the valley below | clouds of paper and rubbish instead of dead leaves.

Yet the smoke still lay over Sheffield. Sullenly it crawled and spread ; f Round the bases of the tall chimneys, over the roofs of the houses, in waves—and the city was like a city of chimneys © and spires rising out of a troubled seaFrom the windward side where the roads were shining wet |

with recent rain,