The land lies full, from brim to brim Of the great smoke-blue mountains' rim, Of yellow autumn and red sun. A giant in content, the day Idles the solemn hours away To dreamland one by one. Life is the dominance of good, And love the ecstasy of mood, Your hand in my hand says to me. Yet, somewhere in the waste between Being and sense, I hear a threne Wash like the dirging sea. |