Miles and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour, Each for some unquiet soul a haven and a home, Pleasant fires for winter nights, for sun the trellised arbour, Earth the solid underfoot, and heaven for a dome. Washed by storms of cleansing rain, and sweetened with affliction, The hidden wells of Love are heard in one low-murmuring voice That rises from this close-meshed life so like a benediction That, listening to it, in my heart I almost dare rejoice.
No posts