Only the might of her beauty shall bind us,

Full of rest, as we gaze on the face of our mother,

Earth in the health and the strength of her peace.

MORNING ON THE LIÈVRES.

Far above us where a jay

Screams his matins to the day,

Capped with gold and amethyst,

Like a vapour from the forge

Of a giant somewhere hid,

Out of hearing of the clang

Of his hammer, skirts of mist

Slowly up the woody gorge

Lift and hang.

Softly as a cloud we go,

Sky above and sky below,

Down the river, and the dip

Of the paddles scarcely breaks,

With the little silvery drip

Of the water as it shakes

[Pg 22]

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