ANDREW Young, the Scots-born and educated cleric and naturalist, did not usually let belief intrude overtly in his quirky and closely observed verses about the countryside.

Here the man of religion seems smitten by the visionary nature of the scene he describes.

AN EVENING WALK

I never saw a lovelier sky;

The faces of the passers-by

Shine with gold light as they step west

As though by secret joy possessed,

Some rapture that is not of earth

But in that heavenly climate has its birth.

I know it is the sunlight paints

The faces of these travelling saints,

But shall I hold in cold misprision

The calm and beauty of that vision

Upturned a moment from the sorrow

That makes today today, tomorrow tomorrow?