Dim watered vale whose clear streams seek the sea, At gray of dawn strange gods walked in the wood Before Saint Joseph's wattled chapel stood Woven with green wands from some Druid tree; The fragrance of a lost simplicity Clings to the tomb of the white brotherhood That wandered through wild lands, yet found it good To linger here apart with Calvary. The feet of frost have touched you, now you wear Autumn's rich ruined splendor and soft haze -- The memory of immemorial fires; But as you dream alone, the sea-winds bear A whispered promise from wide starry ways Of new songs that shall fill those fallen choirs. |