 | Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson |  |
GRACE
To William Sharp.
The moorland, the wild moorland knows!
Under these dragging clouds, beneath
These beaten pines, the secret grows
To light within our souls.
Hark! throughout Merioneth rolls
Low thunder down the heath.
Under these dragging clouds, beneath
These beaten pines, the secret grows
To light within our souls.
Hark! throughout Merioneth rolls
Low thunder down the heath.
Where the vexed life of London drives
Her alien multitudes along:
Will moorland glory brace our lives,
And make the dark hours clear?
Yes! for the lights on hill and mere,
Our lit souls will prolong.
Her alien multitudes along:
Will moorland glory brace our lives,
And make the dark hours clear?
Yes! for the lights on hill and mere,
Our lit souls will prolong.
238
Silence, in the most weary stress
Of dinning street or brilliant room:
Pure memory, amid merciless
Cares, and encumbering wants:
Silence and memory! can the haunts
Of London dusk their bloom?
Of dinning street or brilliant room:
Pure memory, amid merciless
Cares, and encumbering wants:
Silence and memory! can the haunts
Of London dusk their bloom?
Then were life springless winter, wan
With heavy airs and all decay.
But paradisal yet is man,
And natural life his charm.
Powerless are worldlier powers to harm,
Who love the simpler way.
With heavy airs and all decay.
But paradisal yet is man,
And natural life his charm.
Powerless are worldlier powers to harm,
Who love the simpler way.
1888.
| Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson | |