Carmel Highlands, by Janet Loxley Lewis

Below the gardens and the darkening pines
The living water sinks among the stones,
Sinking yet foaming till the snowy tones
Merge with the fog drawn landward in dim lines.
The cloud dissolves among the flowering vines,
And now the definite mountain-side disowns
The fluid world, the immeasurable zones.
Then white oblivion swallows all designs.

But still the rich confusion of the sea,
Unceasing voice, sombre and solacing,
Rises through veils of silence past the trees;
In restless repetition bound, yet free,
Wave after wave in deluge fresh releasing
An ancient speech, hushed in tremendous ease.

Austerity, by Janet Loxley Lewis

From “Cold Hills”

I have lived so long	
On the cold hills alone …	
I loved the rock	
And the lean pine trees,	
Hated the life in the turfy meadow,
Hated the heavy, sensuous bees.	
I have lived so long	
Under the high monotony of starry skies,	
I am so cased about	
With the clean wind and the cold nights,
People will not let me in	
To their warm gardens	
Full of bees.