Netting silver wyver-fish
In a wyvern stream,
Through Malvern Hills and
Mendips, on to Glastonbury.

Her comet’s tail is halcyon,
At river’s end serene;
Salmon’s grey, come what may,
She flew above the dene.

When I woke in Maundy thirst
My palms were bare and old;
The wyver-fish had flown away,
A photograph is cold.