Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/198

 Through all its lava‑black Cones that cast answer back And cliffs of footless track Where thunders meet.

The light speaks wide and loud From deeps blown clean of cloud As though day's heart were proud And heaven's were glad; The towers brown‑striped and grey Take fire from heaven of day As though the prayers they pray Their answers had.

Higher in these high first hours Wax all the keen church towers, And higher all hearts of ours Than the old hills' crown,