Fair and many, or evil and few, But the going of bare feet has ended, Of naked feet set in the new Meadow grass sweet and wet.

I will long for the ways of soft walking, Grown tired of the dust and the glare, And mute in the midst of much talking Will pine for the silences rare; Streets of peril and speech full of malice Will recall me the pastures and peace Which gardened and guarded those valleys With grasses as high as the knees, Calm as high as the sky:

While the island secure in my spirit At ease on its own ocean rides, And Memory, a ship sailing near it, Shall float in with favouring tides, Shall enter the harbours and land me To visit the gorges and heights Whose aspects seemed once to command me, As queens by their charms command knights To achievements of arms.

And as knights have caught sight of queens' faces Through the dust of the lists and the din, So, remembering these holiest places In the days when I lose or I win, I will yearn to them, all being over, Triumphant or trampled beneath, To this beautiful isle like a lover, To her evergreen brakes for a wreath, For a tear to her lakes.

The last of her now is a brightening Far fire in the forested hills, The breeze as the night nears is heightening, The cordage draws tighter and thrills, Like a horse that is spurred by the rider The great vessel quivers and quails, And passes the billows beside her, The fair wind is strong in her sails, She is lifted along.

THE END.