Passing Axbridge

Here's another sonnet that has turned up in a drawer. I drove to work along this road. This piece betrays a little more eroticism, suggested by the landscape:

Half ringed by Cheddar's hills - like spreading thighs
Gorge-cleft, age-old, yet young with bushy green -
Silvered by eastern sun, a smooth lake lies,
And mediaeval Axbridge stands between.

Beyond, a green sea reaches towards the sun
Ruffled by hedge-ridge, tree-ridge, wooded mound;
When I pass through it, this, that seems all one,
Is rich with apple-blossom and bird-sound.

Afar, green turns as blue as smoke from fire.
Horizoned on the bright east sky, at rest
As in Elysium, the nipple-spire
Stands stiff on Glastonbury's swelling breast.

My heart bounds up with gladness at the view.
My mind - I know not how - stays fixed on you.