Page:Themes and variations (IA themesvariations00wils).pdf/85
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
The Little Rift.
73
THE LITTLE RIFT.
We sat together on the old stone pier
Talking of songs, and books that we had read;
And then we quarrelled; how, I hardly know—
What have I done to make this bright day dim?
Talking of songs, and books that we had read;
And then we quarrelled; how, I hardly know—
What have I done to make this bright day dim?
We looked upon the dreaming summer-land
That rose above our harbour’s azure bow.
A band of billowing woodland, dark and low,
Flowed to the east; and over it the cloud,
Broad and thick-folded, closed above the land,
Close as the hazel-husk enfolds the nut,
A far-off shaft of sunshine, striking fire,
Showed distant fields we never saw before—
That belt of stubble field—that flashing pane,
How near they seemed in the strange sunset gleam!
That rose above our harbour’s azure bow.
A band of billowing woodland, dark and low,
Flowed to the east; and over it the cloud,
Broad and thick-folded, closed above the land,
Close as the hazel-husk enfolds the nut,
A far-off shaft of sunshine, striking fire,
Showed distant fields we never saw before—
That belt of stubble field—that flashing pane,
How near they seemed in the strange sunset gleam!
We talked of old-world memoirs, in whose wit
We drink the sealed-up sunshine of the age;
Of travellers’ tales whose wild adventure stirs
The salt sea-faring spark within our blood;
We paid our duty to the delicate art,
Of those who paint our huts and palaces
With frescoes of the endless lover’s tale.
More bright than in Egyptian temple-tombs
Starts out the life of twice a thousand years;
We drink the sealed-up sunshine of the age;
Of travellers’ tales whose wild adventure stirs
The salt sea-faring spark within our blood;
We paid our duty to the delicate art,
Of those who paint our huts and palaces
With frescoes of the endless lover’s tale.
More bright than in Egyptian temple-tombs
Starts out the life of twice a thousand years;