Port St. Mary

From upland bourne I gaze

Down on the patchwork fields and scattered farms

To where, muffled in summer haze,

The far port sleeps.

There, gathered in its arms

Like sheep within a fold,

Their tiny hulls in white and gold,

Lie little boats. Beyond them sweeps

The diamond-studded sea in a vast arc

To where the horizon with faintest edge

Meets the pellucid sky.

 

So might a god look, with an eye

Cold and dispassionate, and mark

The toil of men a pledge

Not worth redeeming in its trivial scope,

Its petty squabbles, its self-vaunting hope.

Yet when the night is dark and lamps are lit

The earth’s frail stars are with the heavens lit.

 

Mona’s Herald     27.11.62