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