January 15th, 1908 (Dunwich)
by Edward Thomas
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Oh Dunwich is beautiful. I am on a heaving moor of
heather and close gorse up and down and ending in a sandy
cliff about 80 feet peropendicular on the black, peat-strewn
fine sand below. On the edge of this 1 1/2 miles away is the
ruined church that has half fallen over already. Four arches
and a broken tower, pale and airy. Just beyond that the
higher moor dips quite flat marsh with gentlest rises inland
with masses of trees compact and dark and a perfect huge
curve of foamy coast up to the red light at Southwold
northward. In the other direction, just behind us, the moor
dips to more marshes with black cattle dim and far off under
white sun, and three faint windmills that work a sluice and
then trees - inland more gentle rises with pines. No hills
(unless you lie down in a dip of the moor and fancy the
moorland as part of a Welsh 'black mountain').
(From
a letter to Gordon Bottomley.) |
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