Verse > Anthologies > The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse > 272. Lindisfarne
Nicholson & Lee, eds.  The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.
272. Lindisfarne
By Herbert Trench  (b. 1865)
OUR seer, the net-mender,
The day that he died
Looked out to the seaward
At ebb of the tide;
Gulls drove like the snow        5
Over bight, over barn,
As he sang to the ebb
On the rock Lindisfarne:
‘Hail, thou blue ebbing!
The breakers are gone       10
From the stormy coast-islet
Bethundered and lone!
Hail, thou wide shrinking
Of foam and of bubble—
The reefs are laid bare       15
And far off is the trouble!
For through this retreating
As soft as a smile,
The isle of the flood
Is no longer an isle.…       20
By the silvery isthmus
Of sands that uncover,
Now feet as of angels
Come delicate over—
The fluttering children       25
Flee happily over!
To the beach of the mainland
Return is now clear,
The old travel thither
Dry-shod, without fear.…       30
And now, at the wane,
When foundations expand,
Doth the isle of the soul,
Lindisfarne, understand
She stretcheth to vastness       35
Made one with the land!’



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