Page:The forerunners.djvu/14

12 The turmoil of the world, And who, from out the hurtling of the waves, Makest the rhythm of the seas;

Cathedral established Upon the perfect balance of opposing forces; Dazzling rose-window, Where the blood of the sun Gushes forth in diapered sheaves of flame Which the harmonising eye of the artist has bound together;

Like to a huge bird Which soars in the zenith, Sheltering the plain beneath its wings, Thy flight embraces, Beyond what is, that which has been and will be.

Thou art sister to joy and sister to sorrow, Youngest and wisest of sisters; Thou boldest them both by the hand. Thus art thou like a limpid channel linking two rivers, A channel wherein the skies are mirrored betwixt two rows of pale poplars.

Thou art the divine messenger, Passing to and fro like the swallow From bank to bank, Uniting them. To some saying, "Weep not, joy will come again"; To others, "Be not over-confident, happiness is fleeting."

Thy shapely arms tenderly enfold Thy froward children, And thou smilest, gazing on them As they bite thy swelling breast.