. Flora . I GO HOME. THE PATH Is it an abbey that I see Hard-by that tapering poplar-tree,Whereat that path hath end ?Tis wondrous stillThat empty hill,Yet calls me, friend. Smooth is the turf, serene the sky. The timeworn, crumbling roof awry ;Within that Turret slimHangs there a bellWhose faint notes knell ?Do colours dim Burn in that angled window there,Grass-green, and crimson, azure rare ? Would, from that narrow door, One, looking in, See, gemlike, shine On walls and floor Candles whose aureole flames must seemSo still they burn to burn in dream ?And do they cry, and say, See, stranger ;

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. Flora . I GO HOME. THE PATH Is it an abbey that I see Hard-by that tapering poplar-tree,Whereat that path hath end ?Tis wondrous stillThat empty hill,Yet calls me, friend. Smooth is the turf, serene the sky. The timeworn, crumbling roof awry ;Within that Turret slimHangs there a bellWhose faint notes knell ?Do colours dim Burn in that angled window there,Grass-green, and crimson, azure rare ? Would, from that narrow door, One, looking in, See, gemlike, shine On walls and floor Candles whose aureole flames must seemSo still they burn to burn in dream ?And do they cry, and say, See, stranger ; come ] Here is thy home ; No longer stray J. >. , * r kvrf 7 THE PATH. 13

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Keywords: ., bookauthordelamare, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookyear1919