ON THE SOUTH COAST.
35
Men and years are as leaves or tears that storm or sorrow
is fain to shed:
These go by as the winds that sigh, and none takes note
of them quick or dead:
Time, whose breath is their birth and death, folds here
his pinions, and bows his head.
Still the sun that beheld begun the work wrought here of
unwearied hands
Sees, as then, though the Red King's men held ruthless
rule over lawless lands,
Stand their massive design, impassive, pure and proud as
a virgin stands.
Statelier still as the years fulfil their count, subserving
her sacred state,
Grows the hoary grey church whose story silence utters
and age makes great:
Statelier seems it than shines in dreams the face unveiled
of unvanquished fate.
