Verses (Baughan)/Lustleigh Cleave

by Blanche Edith Baughan

LUSTLEIGH CLEAVE

This is a haunt of Peace! This room,
Like some still convent-cell
White-wall’d and innocently bare,
Knoweth her presence well.

Her breath hath touch’d this quiet air,
Her hand these quiet rills;
Her kiss yet lingers at the heart
Of these shy daffodils.

As fields with dew, yon spacious sky
Is sooth’d with her decree;
These open-hearted lonely hills
Are made her sanctuary.

O that so consecrate and calm’d,
O that so sure a shrine,
So purposéd and so fulfill’d
Were this hot heart of mine!