The sky is dappled blue with clouds that stray.
⁠Like frozen waves the roofs go rolling down
⁠The valley steeps, but weatherworn and brown
Steeple and stack shoot mastlike toward the day.

Pandean pipes whereon the winds would play,
⁠Long rows of chimney-pots the ridges crown;
⁠And black on slates and skylights flicker and frown
Shadows of smoke that streams and wings that sway.

The city's monstrous voices surge to me,
⁠The mist afar its fantasies arranges,
And sudden windows twinkle joyously.

A blue grey streak, a fixed uncertainty,
⁠A fallen slip of sky that shifts and changes,
The Forth beyond them broadens into sea.

The blackbird sang, the skies were clear and clean.
⁠We bowled along a road that curved its spine
⁠Superbly sinuous and serpentine
Thro' silent symphonies of glowing green.

Sudden the Firth came on us — sad of mien.
⁠No cloud to colour it, no breeze to line,
⁠A sheet of dark, dull glass, without a sign
Of life and death, two shelves of sand between.

Water and sky merged blank in mist together.
⁠The fort loomed spectral, and the guard-ship's spars
⁠⁠Traced vague, black shadows on the shimmery glaze.

We felt the dim strange years, the grey strange weather,
⁠The still strange land unvexed of sun or stars,
⁠⁠Where Lancelot rides clanking thro' the haze.

The sky saggs low with convoluted cloud.
⁠Heavy and imminent, rolled from rim to rim.
⁠And wreaths of mist beveil the further brim
Of the leaden sea, all spiritless and cowed.

The rain is falling sheer and strong and loud.
⁠The strand is desolate, the distance grim
⁠With stormful threats, the wet stones glister dim.
And to the wall the dank umbrellas crowd.

At home! — the soaked shrubs whisper dismal-mooded.
⁠The rails are strung with drops, and steeped the grasses,
⁠⁠Black chimney-shadows streak the shiny slates.

A draggled fishwife screeches at the gates,
⁠The baker hurries dripping on, and hooded
⁠⁠In her stained skirt a pretty housemaid passes.

The sunset's roses faint and fain decline.
⁠Inshore the still sea shimmers scale on scale,
⁠Like an enormous coat of magic mail —
Sheet silver shot with tremulous opaline.

Rare boats traverse it, glidingly supine.
⁠The Inchkeith light by moments flashes pale.
⁠The distance darkles, and a far grey sail
Melts vague into the solemn evenshine.

The thickening dusk is quick with pattering feet
⁠And swishing dresses, and the airs of June
With broad sea-scents and blown cigars are sweet;

And over yonder, where the ripples beat,
⁠Sweethearts are wandering, while the yellowing moon
Sails the blue lift, and wide stars glance and greet.