LooK at that little island, moss-agate and green In a white-foaming sea the colour of a moonstone.
Two thousand years ago The Child of Light* ran to and fro Over its gentle grass, Fire following His feet And following the fire, song, and buds of meadowsweet, Vetches and tansy, parsley and pennywort Brighter than any its mould altenvards tumbled out.
Fishermen as now said of a fine day- " It's foxy weather—only a draw-breath ; Us'll lose a brave lot of withy-pots—worse maybe ; Before it fines up some could come by death."
Death He did not think terrible. He went away To die and show its amity.
Sail to His island. Kneel upon it. Pray—
The Triumph of God about you an oval fire
Pouring its music up—a fountain,a rainbow-coloured flower—
Into the twilight air ; Lilt a dark oyster in a shining shell Come back enfolded in that burning Will.
Thereafter see it flashing about every man—
And if he cannot, show him how he can.
* There is an ancient tradition that the Child Jesus used to come to Looe Island with Joseph of Arimathea when the latter was trading tin. An old fortification known as " The Giants' Hedge " is said to have been made to " guard Him from the Giants while He played."