Analysis (ai): This poem describes the beauty and diversity of the Cornish cliffs, evoking a sense of timelessness and connection to the natural world. The speaker highlights the contrast between the untamed wilderness of the cliffs and the more manicured landscapes of other regions, suggesting that the Cornish hills represent a place where ...

Jan 12, 2022 · Ten of the best coastal views from Cornwall's cliffs. From the dramatic Land's End to King Arthur's country...

Much of the peninsula consists of the dark green and red rock, serpentinite, which forms cliffs as at Kynance Cove, and can be carved and polished to create ornaments. This ultramafic rock forms a very infertile soil which covers the flat and marshy heaths of the Goonhilly Downs.

May 2, 2015 · More than in gardened Surrey, nature spills A wealth of heather, kidney-vetch and squills Over these long-defended Cornish hills. A gun-emplacement of the latest war Looks older than the hill fort built before Saxon or Norman headed for the shore.

Leads inland to a usual Cornish scene-Slate cottages with sycamore between, Small fields and tellymasts and wires and poles With, as the everlasting ocean rolls, Two chapels built for half a hundred souls.

Jan 18, 2017 · The cliffs here tower above the sea. The wind-battered, bare rock faces seem to tumble in a series of strange and dramatic formations. This concertina of black shale, sandstone and quartz was formed millions of years ago.

Cornish Cliffs is a poem by John Betjeman. Those moments, tasted once and never done,Of long surf breaking in the mid-day sun.A far-off blow-hole booming like a gun-The seagulls plane and circle...comments, analysis, and meaning.

Over these long-defended Cornish hills. Saxon or Norman headed for the shore. A misty sea-line meets the wash of air. On sunny shallows, green and whispering. Whose notes are tuned to days when seas are high. Two chapels built for half a hundred souls.

Published in the print edition of the May 21, 1966, issue, with the headline “Cornish Cliffs.”

To where the slate falls sheer into the tide. Over these long-defended Cornish hills. Saxon or Norman headed for the shore. A misty sea-line meets the wash of air. On sunny shallows, green and whispering. Whose notes are tuned to days when seas are high. Two chapels built for half a hundred souls. Those moments, tasted once and nev…