The Shepherdess, by George Houghton

The Shepherdess

A hill of heather 'gainst a yellow sky;
And on its top, as on a buttress high,
A shape, a moving form, from rock to rock
With hands uplifted leading home the flock.   As on the living picture wends its way,
A silhouette upon the fading day,
The figure stops, and one by one, aright,
The sheep pass by, and downward, out of sight.   And after them the figure follows down,
Grows short and shorter, till the heather brown
Alone is left, and one uplifted hand, --
Then purple twilight covers up the land.

poems.one - George Houghton

George Houghton