Sonnet XXX — 30
The Kirk of Ulpha to the Pilgrim’s eye
Is welcome as a Star, that doth present
Its shining forehead through the peaceful rent
Of a black cloud diffused o’er half the sky;
Or as a fruitful palm-tree towering high
O’er the parched waste beside an Arab’s tent;
Or the Indian tree whose branches, downward bent,
Take root again, a boundless canopy.
How sweet were leisure! could it yield no more
Than ’mid that wave-washed Church-yard to recline,
From pastoral graves extracting thoughts divine;
Or there to pace, and mark the summits hoar
Of distant moon-lit mountains faintly shine,
Sooth’d by the unseen River’s gentle roar.