Winter in the Marshes. 13 



clangorous geese, making for the Channel, whose 

 brown flood just shows among the ragged outlines of 

 the sandhills that keep back the Severn Sea. 



And on the long-disused decoys, or on the quiet 

 ponds where many a lusty pike was netted for the 

 Abbot's table, there is ever seen among the reeds the 

 white forehead of the coot, or the restless figure of the 

 little dabchick. 



Or from the shore a water-rail starts up, the dark red 

 of its beak and legs and the flicker of its white tail 

 forming welcome points of relief on the dull brown of 

 the reeds. 



On the shore of a little creek, where once no doubt 

 the barges of the abbey were moored alongside the 

 barn, whose ancient gables peer through green waves 

 of ivy, a drowned sheep has drifted in, and a troop of 

 crows even now are gathering to the banquet. 



In the flooded field beyond, the edge of the water 

 is lined with the white figures of a flock of gulls ; 

 others are paddling leisurely this way or that, riding 

 high on the cold grey ripples after the manner of their 

 race. A heron, too, among them stands waiting 

 soberly for any plunder that the wind may drift 

 ashore. 



The hour grows late ; the light is failing fast. The 

 eye can trace no longer the outline of the ancient barn 

 The gnarled figures of the pollards grow dim and 

 ghostlike in the gathering dusk. 



Suddenly, from the old tower that from the hill-slope 



