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Samuel Palmer’s Moon

Last night the moon that climbed above
the near horizon where the steeply rising hill
completes one side of this, Saint Saviour’s valley,
which enfolds and swaddles us, which hems us in,
was butter and was huge. And we were like
the folk of Shoreham, ‘coming from evening church’,
the same great disc confirming them in faith
that now confirms in faithless wonderers
an article retained: this beauty will endure.