Placid is the toll of the iron bell
As its resonance washes against the hills
And settles into the dry beds and knotted groves
Of the sun-parched valley at rest below
The morning rises guardedly
Over a stirring countryside
Illuminating the far off sea
A waxen shield, horizon's protector
As I stagger up from the sun-bleached tiles
Where in night's revelry I laid my head
I lean against a rusting lattice and compose my thoughts
My waking eyes held spellbound by a waxen sea
I raise my hands to the sea beyond
Intoxicated by the winds that whip up from her fair shores
I'll mind any road, be they tranquil or pestilent
Through knotted, olden grove or stone-strewn ruin
To wander her fair shores
To be adrift in the azure
To covet the sea breeze
To daydream upon her dunes
*All in due time*
Placid is the toll of the iron bell
As its resonance washes against the hills
