Page:The Poems of Henry Kendall (1920).djvu/112



sea-wind flies up and sings

Across the blown-wet border,

Whose stormy echo runs and rings

Like bells in wild disorder.

Fierce breath hath vexed the foreland's face,

It glistens, glooms, and glistens;

But deep within this quiet place

Sweet Illa lies and listens.

Sweet Illa of the shining sands,

She sleeps in shady hollows,

Where August flits with flowerful hands,

And silver Summer follows.

Far up the naked hills is heard

A noise of many waters,

But green-haired Illa lies unstirred

Amongst her star-like daughters.

The tempest, pent in moaning ways,

Awakes the shepherd yonder,

But Illa dreams unknown to days

Whose wings are wind and thunder.

Here fairy hands and floral feet

Are brought by bright October;

Here, stained with grapes and smit with heat,

Comes Autumn, sweet and sober.

Here lovers rest, what time the red

And yellow colours mingle,

And daylight droops with dying head

Beyond the western dingle.

And here, from month to month, the time

Is kissed by peace and pleasure,

While Nature sings her woodland rhyme

And hoards her woodland treasure.