ESCAPIST PRAYER
Lur me be rid of this huddled townland, Rid of hot rooms and loud talking, Continuous, sound overtaking sound ; And climb into the north, walking Where mountain upon mountain, poured Into the shape of wind and cloud, Troubles the air, and mountain water Troubles the air with companioning sound, With quiet sound that rests the listener, Water dropping on peat and rock. Here all sound runs, hastening Into the intricate pattern of thought : There my concern is the shape of the frost on Upland grass in the still morning, How the expectant trees' pattern Under the young moon and the sunset Breathes magic, becomes creation.
ELISABETH CLLTER.
DutEcr subscribers who are changing their addresses are asked to notify THE SPECTATOR office BEFORE MIDDAY on MONDAY OF EACH WEEK. The previous address to which the paper has been sent and receipt reference number should be quoted.
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