Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/24

 Yes, only in my poor blind human way Sense I the splendour of this place and day; And my sight passes Collie’s, it may be, But by this mean degree— That passionately I know I do not see! An eye to gaze, a mind I have, to read, A heart, a soul, to exult in this great scene, But Ah, what faculty to fill my need Of knowing what its dazzling scriptures mean?

O Thou, Whom here on the hill dog-like I dwell beside, My unseen Artist-Master, Teacher, Guide! Yon sweet meanderings of blue and green, Enamell’d purple and bronze, Curv’d sea-neck like a swan’s, Curl’d veinings that illume and damascene; Mist and bright sea, low plain and lofty snows, City of man that gleams, City of God that glows How, to Thine absolute view That aye the depth can see, the surface through, Appears the lovely symbol shining there? What dost Thou see, whereat I do but stare? The lettering so lovely, what must be The meaning’s majesty? What says this curv’d and colour’d charactery? How reads this rich page of Eternity? What is our Estuary’s immortal lore? O, far, far, far from me! Collie can sense the surface, I may pore