Verses (Baughan)/Lustleigh Cleave
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LUSTLEIGH CLEAVE
This is a haunt of Peace! This room,
Like some still convent-cell
White-wall’d and innocently bare,
Knoweth her presence well.
Her breath hath touch’d this quiet air,
Her hand these quiet rills;
Her kiss yet lingers at the heart
Of these shy daffodils.
As fields with dew, yon spacious sky
Is sooth’d with her decree;
These open-hearted lonely hills
Are made her sanctuary.
O that so consecrate and calm’d,
O that so sure a shrine,
So purposéd and so fulfill’d
Were this hot heart of mine!