And yet the plain will wake to green and golden
Within a few still hours; a breath will pass
Crisping the mirror-surface of the water;
The larks will start up from the dewy grass;
The proud far sky will smile and grow more kindly;
The gauzy wisps of cloud that float in it—
The small pale frightened clouds that cast no shadow
Since they dim not the starshine as they flit—
Will mass to eastward like a host with banners,
Dawn’s dazzling banners streaming out unfurled
Above the dayspring’s golden fountain welling
Up from beneath the dark rim of the world.
FLOWER AND THORN
Black the storm-wind rides the sky, all the leaves are torn,
Briers upon the common stand stripped to stick and thorn;
Thorny is the brier, thorny is the brier,
Mother Mary, keep me safe, give me my desire!
Now the winter rains have gone, Heaven’s washed and clean,
All the brooks are laughing sweet, all the trees are green;
Leafy is the brier, leafy is the brier,
Mother Mary in the sky, grant me my desire!
Summer’s yellow on the land, throbbing warm and live,
Hear her million voices hum like a lucky hive;
Blossom of the brier, blossom of the brier,
Mary in the summertime, give me my desire!
All the talking winds are stilled in the autumn pause,
Redder far than blood or fire blaze the hips and haws;
Fruiting of the brier, fruiting of the brier—
Mother Mary, must I die starved of my desire?
THE GREY LAKE
(Lake Eyre, South Australia)
Far away to southward
The grey lake lies,
Thirty leagues of mud, bare
To turquoise skies.