A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, Half sea, half country side; A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide Over a chalky, weedy mat. A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green Round Crosses raised for hope, With many-tinted sunsets where the slope Faces the lingering western sheen. A lowly hope, a height that is but low, While Time sets solemnly, While the tide rises of Eternity, Silent and neither swift nor slow.