Sunday, March 14, 2010

Sonnet XIV


O France! That distant does my lone heart raid –
How far from home my thoughts have been this hour.
A gold Proven├žal 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.