( To Paul Dowling )
There's a mouldering mountain chapel gazing out across the sea
From beneath the lisping shelter of a eucalyptus tree
That has drawn the ancient silence from the mountain's heart and fills
And subdues a fevered spirit with the quiet of the hills.
For silvery in the morning the chimes go dropping down
Across the vales of purple mist that gird the island town
And golden in the evening the vesper bells again
Call back the weary fishing folk along the leafy lane.
I'd like to be the father priest and call the folk to prayer
Up through the winding dewy ways that climb the morning air,
And send them down at even-song with all the silent sky
Of early starshine teaching them far deeper truth than I.
I'd like to lie at rest there beneath a mossy stone
Above the crooning sea's low distant monotone,
Lulled by the lisping whisper of the eucalyptus tree
That shades my mountain chapel gazing out across the sea.
( Avalon, Christmas Day, 1913)