| Breton Afternoon |
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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
prayer,
And the river ripple by and the distant call of a
bird.
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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!
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Out of the tumult of angry tongues, in a land alone,
apart,
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.
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Sleep and be quiet for an afternoon, till the rose-
white angelus
Softly steals my way from the village under the
hill:
Mother of God, O Misericord, look down in pity on
us,
The weak and blind who stand in our light and wreak
ourselves such ill.
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