Over there
beyond fields of yellow
There are
villages stretching ahead.
There"s
a wood and the sunset of mellow
And a fence
with a nettle thread.
There
over the domes of the temple
Is the
turquoise dust of the sky,
And the wind
rings the grass, wet and gentle,
As it comes
from the lakes nearby.
It is not
for the song of the valley
That I love
this greenery spill,
Like a crane
I"m in love with the alley
And the
convent on top of the hill.
When the
azure gets misty and blooming,
And
the sunset hangs over the bridge
I can see
you, my wandering woman,
Go to bow to
the cross and beseech.
Chaste is
life in the convent village,
Public
prayer absorbs you all,
Pray before
our Saviour"s image,
Preach to
God for my fallen soul.
1916
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