Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/38



LAND of the hidden sun, Poor land of pensive skies, —Between whose long grey lids Glide out long golden eyes:

Land of tyrannic cloud, —Betray’d by peeping blue, Where, from her huddled rags, The native Heaven laughs thro’:

Land of drear noons, with roof And quaking walls of rain, —Issuing on royal eves, Pure fire without one stain:

God spread and spread thy light, God thrust thy clouds apart, Land of the tear-fill’d eyes, Land of the laughing heart!