 | Lord Vyet and Other Poems |  |
65
THE MESSAGE
Stretched in the grass, what was it that I dreamed?
There, where the mossy rock its streamlet spilled,
While the sad curlew in the rushes trilled,
And flying sails by distant headlands gleamed;
There, where the mossy rock its streamlet spilled,
While the sad curlew in the rushes trilled,
And flying sails by distant headlands gleamed;
Hot o'er the heather waved the quivering air,
Sweep after sweep the billowy moorland rolled,
As tho' some stiff green coverlet did enfold
Huge sleeping giants, sprawling prostrate there.
Sweep after sweep the billowy moorland rolled,
As tho' some stiff green coverlet did enfold
Huge sleeping giants, sprawling prostrate there.
What was it that I dreamed? the soaring bird
Swept wold and waste, yet saw not what I saw:
Not love, not honour, not the perfect mind!
But how to tell the secret that I heard
Sung by the stream, and whispered in the wind,
Of faith and patience, and divinest awe?
Swept wold and waste, yet saw not what I saw:
Not love, not honour, not the perfect mind!
But how to tell the secret that I heard
Sung by the stream, and whispered in the wind,
Of faith and patience, and divinest awe?
| Lord Vyet and Other Poems | |