In A Monastery Garden

OVER the long salt ridges And the gold sea-poppies between, They builded them wild-briar hedges, A church and a cloistered green. And when they were done with their praises, And the tides on the Fore beat slow, Under the white cliff-daisies They laid them down in a row. Porphyry, Paul, and Peter, Jasper, and Joachim,– Was the psaltery music sweeter Than the throat of the thrush to him ? Tired of their drones and their dirges, Where the young cliff-rabbits play, Wet with the salt of the surges, They laid them down for a day. One may not call to the other There on the rim of the deep, Only the youngest brother Lies and smiles in his sleep. When the wild swan's shadow passes, When the ripe fruit falls to the sod, When the faint moth flies in the grasses He dreams in the hands of God. Here for his hopes there follow The violets one by one. The dove is here and the swallow And the young leaf seeking the sun. And here when the last sail darkens And the last lone path is trod, Under the rose he harkens And smiles in the eyes of God.