Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/152

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More iris-hued their neck, more coralline
The little feet that follow where she goes,
This Stranger-Lady, pilgrim from the sea,
Around whose galley, day-long, dolphins play!


Sophron:

Aye, sea-gulls who at starkest winter-tide
Still shun the inland neighbourhood of man,
Come idly circling all the noonday through,
And shake with wings aslant the rose-leaves down
Upon their Siren-Mistress!


Father Bernadine:

The lagoon
Warmer and bluer growing at every tide
Bears from the open ocean to our shore
A sand more silver, amber and ambergris.
Treasure of rosy-hued or emerald weed,
Dyed with intenser colour, fairer shells