POETRY
THE RECOVERY
WHEN I walked out to-day, I bore a secret burden in my heart, A load of tired anxiety, the fruit Of false ambition, and the mad pursuit In which all men engage, who claim a part Of this material Earth for recompense.
But as I went my way, Bent, jaded, with each heavy sense Cumbering my soul, not firing it with passion ; I turned a corner, and beheld the sea Far off, across the widening valley's mouth, Curtained with light that hung upon the south, Dull with so fierce a noon intensity.
And plovers, in their wild and crazy fashion, Wheeled and tossed, above the reedy bed That filled the river, and hid its serpent strength, Save for one shuddering pathway where it sped Thridding the lances, till it came at length To where the scouts of ocean flashed their wings And lit upon the sands with foreign cries That told of far-off splendours, and strange things Waiting in their tropical paradise For such adventurers as dared to roam Beyond that line, where disembodied sails Passed to and fro, like clouds by rain unshod.
So there I found the joy that never fails ; The silent speech with vast creation's God ; The morning Odyssey, the summons home.
RICHARD CHURCH.
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