IN A GLEN.
WILD hollow deeply cloven in the hills,
Oh, faint,-lit cloistral harbourage of rest !
Where silence, drowsing on thy placid breast, Is lulled with low, half-noiseless noise of cilia; Where grey hill-shadows keep the noontide cool, Where no rude world-born dissonance intrudes, The heart evolves within thy solitudes, From formless dreams the formed and beautiful.
What wonder I have chosen thee, dark glen, For song and rest, since following thy streams, I lonely, rapt in tremulous gladness, far From turmoil and the narrow ways of men, Have known the light of slowly kindling dreams, And nebulous thought concentring to a star ?
GEORGE L. Moons.