One of the delights of reading poetry is unexpectedly coming across a beautiful image and knowing -- as soon as you read it -- that you will never forget it. The image may occur in a poem that is otherwise nondescript. And the poem may have been written by someone who is not a "major" or a "well-known" poet. These incidentals are of no moment. The image is what matters.
Such is the case (for me, at least) with the image that appears at the end of the following poem by Mary Webb (1881-1927). Webb is best known for her novels set in the countryside of Shropshire, but she wrote poetry as well. The places named in the poem are all in Wales.
The Mountain Tree
Montgomery's hills are deeply brown,
In Merioneth the sun goes down,
And all along the Land of Lleyn
The spate of night flows darkly in.
Come away to the mountain tree!
Cinnabar-red with fruit is she.
We'll watch the stars, like silver bees,
Fly to their hive beyond the seas.
Mary Webb, Fifty-one Poems (1946).
Sentimental? Perhaps. A bit like a fairy tale? Perhaps. But the final two lines are beautiful and unforgettable. (Again, for me, at least.)