Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/23

 Northward, outside the pattern’d Estuary, Smooth goes the gold shore curving far away Round the smooth crescent of the great blue Bay; And, inland turning, toward the west, behold The cluster’d city, breathing breaths of gold... The purple width of plain....the lifted line Of snows processional, that stride and shine Continuous on, behind City and Estuary, And Bay....till lastly, standing as on sea, Station’d in sky, what massive Splendour glows Alone ’twixt blue and blue?— Pure silver are her bulwarks, and aspire To domes and pinnacles of silver fire, So holy in their lifted, bright repose, That, watching them, one’s hopes grow holy too.... O City Celestial, what indeed are you Beyond mere snows?

My great home-picture, how you satisfy Far more than brain and eye! Burden of Beauty! how is the heart to bear thee, Unless the soul too share thee? Satisfy? nay, it overwhelms! and yet Ever more hunger still doth wake and whet. Ah, here’s more eye-delight than mine can see, And yet here’s not enough, not Beauty enough for me— No, clambering up its noble and high peaks, My spirit o’erpeers them mistily, and speaks, Stammering of Beauty, Beauty! hid behind it... O, if I could but find it!