Breton Afternoon
Here, where the breath of the scented-gorse floats
          through the sun-stained air,
On a steep hill-side, on a grassy ledge, I have lain
          hours long and heard
Only the faint breeze pass in a whisper like a
And the river ripple by and the distant call of a
On the lone hill-side, in the gold sunshine, I will
          hush me and repose,
And the world fades into a dream and a spell is
          cast on me;
And what was all the strife about, for the myrtle or
          the rose,
And why have I wept for a white girl’s paleness pass-
          ing ivory!
Out of the tumult of angry tongues, in a land alone,
In a perfumed dream-land set betwixt the bounds
          of life and death,
Here will I lie while the clouds fly by and delve an
          hole where my heart
May sleep deep down with the gorse above and red,
          red earth beneath.
Sleep and be quiet for an afternoon, till the rose-
          white angelus
Softly steals my way from the village under the
Mother of God, O Misericord, look down in pity on
The weak and blind who stand in our light and wreak
          ourselves such ill.

Webpage © 2002 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (
Created November 13, 2002; not revised.