Books by Galloway Kyle

"At morn I saw the level plainSo rich and small beneath my feet,A sapphire sea without a stain,And fields of golden-waving wheat;Lingering I said, "At noon I'll beAt peace by that sweet-scented tide.How far, how fair my course shall be,Before I come to the Eventide!"Where is it fled, that radiant plain?I stumble now in miry ways;Dark clouds drift landward, big with rain,And lonely moors their summits raise.On, on with hurrying feet I range,And left and right in the dumb hillsideGrey gorges open, drear and strange,And so I come to the Eventide!"