A lowly hill which overlooks a flat,
        Half sea, half country side;
        A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide
Over a chalky, weedy mat.

A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green
        Round Crosses raised for hope,
        With many-tinted sunsets where the slope
Faces the lingering western sheen.

A lowly hope, a height that is but low,
        While Time sets solemnly,
        While the tide rises of Eternity,
Silent and neither swift nor slow.