Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/34

 And to my happy, happy eyes The tears of love and rapture rise, And longing! O my Glory, O my Guide! Could I but serve thee as thou savest me! Could I but prove, could I but make men see The earthly and the heavenly company, The comforter, the comrade, given in thee, The shining Sister ever at their side!

What need? This outlook shows it! Look, complete In little, here’s all the Earth-life at my feet.... Nature in her unveiléd majesty, Simple, superb and sure; Glad colours, mighty forms, of land, sky, sea: Man in her arm—the city! sunk in mist, Blinded with breaths impure Incident to his subsoil—wrong and pain, Hate, ignorance, greed of gain.... And yet, as yonder vapours show, Sun-shot at noon, an opal glow, And paint the plain into a lawn Of roses and violets at dawn:— As yonder chimney-smoke uproll’d Crowns it with curls of silver and gold, And leaguéd lamps at black of night Strew it with galaxies of light:— So with his varying fun and feud, His gloom and gleam of circumstance, Fortunes and fancies many-hued, Building, and battle and romance, Man, the inventive and the various, The complicated and contrarious,