The Gates of Time and Other Poems

by Frederick George Scott


 

EASTER ISLAND


 

There lies a lone isle in the tropic seas,—
    A mountain isle, with beaches shining white,
    Where soft stars smile upon its sleep by night,
And every noonday fans it with a breeze.
Here on a cliff, carved upward from the knees,
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    Three uncouth statues of gigantic height,
    Upon whose brows the circling sea-birds light,
Stare out to ocean over the tall trees.

For ever gaze they at the sea and sky,
    For ever hear the thunder of the main,

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        For ever watch the ages die away;
And ever round them rings the phantom cry
    Of some lost race that died in human pain,
        Looking towards heaven, yet seeing no more than they.