Stella Maris-- The sea under moon. He had been across the sea, to France and to Italy, but that was after the rood-screen town. It was when he had become a master workman, a skilled goldsmith, working for princes, working as an artist works, and when he had come to books--to books--to books.--The moon on the sea, on the coasts of Italy! The moon on the graves of kindred and friends,--the cold moon. The moon above weariness and sighing--nights unsleeping, walkings abroad--plans spun and plans torn apart and shredded to the winds. The moon upon sins, the moon upon sorrows. The moon shining down on the sea, on the coasts of Italy! The moon upon the hours after work, when he read by the candle, when he put it out and looked upon the night.--Moonlight streaming in at the old room’s window, the window so high in the high roof of the tall, old house. Thought and thought and thought!--Conviction that there was some adventure-- Warfare, warring and sinning, lusting. Pride that beset him. Pride of being proud. Very love of self-love. Very care of self-care. Self! The moon on the coasts of Italy! Men he had known, out of many men, and talk with them. The old priest. The moon on the coasts of Italy! The old priest.--Illness. Long illness when death’s door had seemed to open. The priest still. Recovery--and still the priest. Wickedness again. Self-will and self-laudation. Self! Longing, longing and discontent, and ashes in the mouth. Longing and naught to still it. Not work and not thought! The priest again. Longing. One thing laid down and another taken up and laid down. Hunger--hunger and thirst--cold and hunger and thirst. If you were in warm taverns, if you were in palaces, yet cold and hunger and thirst. You must hunt warmth, you must hunt bread, you must hunt water. And when you thought you had found came the snow in at the door, came the harpies and snatched the tables away! God--Christ and His Mother--heaven. They had the food--the water that quenched thirst,--the inner fire. Where were you nearest, nearest? Work fallen away because he must hunt. Cronies and those whom he thought friends estranged. Hunt and hunt and hunt. Dig inside, and outside serve-- Where was the outer land that was nearest inner? God and Christ and His Mother and heaven. They dwelled in the inner that he was hunting. Holy Church was the nearest land. The moon on monastery fields--the moon on the coasts of Italy! The rising moon in the dark wood where he walked and tried to talk to God and his soul--and at last shut his hands and buried his forehead upon them against an oak tree, and said, “I become a monk.” The moon on the garden of herbs, the moon on Silver Cross cemetery. He had been thirty then, and the dark wood was six years ago. At first had seemed quenching--but now was cold, hunger and thirst again! O God--O Christ--O Star of the Sea, shine forth! Oh, heaven, appear! The moon on the coasts of Italy!