Poem by Robert Stephen Hawker

The Vine

HEARKEN! there is in old Morwenna’s shrine,
A lonely sanctuary of the Saxon’s days,
Reared by the Severn sea for prayer and praise,
Amid the carved work of the roof, a vine:
Its root is where the eastern sunbeams fall,
First in the chancel, then along the wall;
Slowly it travels on, a leafy line,
With here and there a cluster, and anon
More and more grapes, until the growth hath gone
Through arch and aisle. Hearken! and heed the sign.
See at the altar side the steadfast root,
Mark well the branches, count the summer fruit:
So let a meek and faithful heart be thine,
And gather from that tree a parable divine.

1. The Death-Race
2. The Well of St. John
3. The Cell
4. The Ringers of Lancell’s Tower
5. Dupath Well

Henry Pye The Vine ("Like clustering tents upon the embattled mead")

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