F.
W . Stokoe.
The
skies,
the
clouds,
the
winds,
the
unmeasured
spaces ,
Rivers , and
cragged
mountains ; upland
places
And
sloping
tall hillsides :
All that
our heart
in
tremulous pride
embraces ,
And
subtler
influence of moods and
tides ,
And
sense
of shadowy
traces .
You
touch
with wonder our
desire
and mirth ,
All aims and
pleasures
of imperfect
birth ,
The
very
pang
of
lust ;
And love, that
comes before
all
power and worth
,
Might
scarcely
shape
such
beauty
out
of
dust
Did
you
forsake
the
earth
.
And
yours
the wonder
of
all times
and
lands
,
Of
tongues
,
and
work
of
human
hearts
and
hands
,
Of thought
,
and
deeds
,
and
art
.
Only
to
you
the unbroken
temple
stands
That
human
love has wrought
in
every
part
To
endure
among
the sands
.
For
you
beyond
all
earthly
good
we crave
,
Loveliest
of
spirits
visiting
us
,
save
Your
shy
and
seldom
brother
Who dwells beyond the
silence
of
the
grave
;
And well
it
may
be,
you
but
serve
that
other
,
And his
the best
you
gave
.
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