Walls

Eva Gore-Booth

1870 to 1926

Poem Image
Track 1

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Free to all souls the hidden beauty calls,
The gliding river and the stream that brawls
God made a garden, it was men built walls;
The lofty rose, the low-grown aconite,
The sea thrift dwelling on her spray-swept height,
But the wide sea from men is wholly freed;
Where rhythmic tides flow for no miser's sake
All waters mirror the one Infinite.
Freely the great waves rise and storm and break,
Nor softlier go for any landlord's need,
And none hath profit of the brown sea-weed,
But all things give themselves, yet none may take.
All these are equal in the equal light—
Down the sharp cliffs with constant breaks and falls—