The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
Easter IslandFrederick George Scott (18611944)
T
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,
Three uncouth statues of gigantic height,
Upon whose brows the circling sea-birds light,
Stare out to ocean over the tall trees.
For ever hear the thunder of the main,
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 toward heaven, yet seeing no more than they.