Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/178

 For in a meadow far from these A hodman treads across the loam, Bearing his solid sanctities To that strange altar called his home.

I watch the tall, sagacious trees Turn as the monks do, every one; The saplings, ardent novices, Turning with them towards the sun,

That Monstrance held in God's strong hands, Burnished in amber and in red; God, His Own priest, in blessing stands; The earth, adoring, bows her head.

The idols of your market place, Your high debates, where are they now? Your lawyers' clamour fades apace— A bird is singing on the bough!

Three fragile, sacramental things Endure, though all your pomps shall pass— A butterfly's immortal wings, A daisy and a blade of grass.

A SONG OF LAUGHTER

The stars with their laughter are shaken; The long waves laugh at sea; And the little Imp of Laughter Laughs in the soul of me.