The clouds lain on forlorn spaces of sky, weary and lolling,

Watch grey waves of a lost sea wander sad, reckless and rolling,

A bare anguish of bleak¹ beaches made mournful with the breath of the Northwind

And a huddle of melancholy hills in the distance.

The blank hour in some vast mood of a Soul lonely in Nature

On earth’s face puts a mask pregnantly carved, cut to misfeature,

And man’s heart and his stilled mind react hushed in a spiritual passion.

Imitating the contours of her desolate waiting.

Impassible she waits long for the sun’s gold and the azure,

The sea’s song with its slow happy refrain’s plashes of pleasure,–

As man’s soul in its depths waits the outbreaking of the light and the godhead.

And the bliss that God felt when he created his image.