Sonnet XIV

O France! That distant does my lone heart raid –

How far from home my thoughts have been this hour.

A gold Provençal sunset bluing, fade

The tawny southern fields of sun and flower.

I long to walk on grassy Norman heights

Along the ashen lengths of wind-swept sand

Climb high in silent towers of Michael’s might

And raise my heart in domes of king’s command.

Yet here the southern fields break my heart

And there the northern hills bring near

My darkest hurt.  I yearn to rise and part

This godless town to find him there --

My God whom I may never know at home

Without whom here I'll always be alone.