To-Day
by Mary Webb
Beyond the darkling sea if no fair shore
Lies, where low flutes play, where the bitter surf
Is all forgotten, and the deep sea roar;
Behind the towering, granite hill of death
If no green crown of smooth, untrodden turf
Welcomes us where the long-lashed daisies eye
The sun so ardently they cannot die,
And the wind sleeps beneath the orchard breath:
Then not for us the fugitive and fond
Dream of a following music, harmonies
Made from the human discord; for beyond
Is mist, and a voice crying — All is over!
Here is our heaven, in one another's eyes,
In children's silver laughter. Here and now
Ripe scarlet apples bend the golden bough,
The bees' low roar is in the purple clover.