UNDER THE CLIFF
The sands and the sea, and the white gulls fleeting,
The mist on the island, the cloud on the hill;
The song in my heart, and the old hope beating
Its life 'gainst the bars of thy will.






OPEN THY GATE

Here in the highway without thy garden wall,
Here in the babel and the glare,
Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call:
Open thy gate unto my prayer--
Open thy gate.

Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade,
All things commend thee in thy place;
Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid,
But, fearing, long to look upon thy face--
Open thy gate.

Over the ample globe, searching for thee,
Thee and thy garden have I come;
Ended my questing: no more, no more for me,
O Sweet, the pilgrim's sandals, call me home--