The storm-soul's change and start

Pause, lull, and cease;

In my unquiet heart

Is born a peace.

[Pg 54]

Loneliness.

Dear, I am lonely, for the bay is still

As any hill-girt lake; the long brown beach

Lies bare and wet. As far as eye can reach

There is no motion. Even on the hill

Where the breeze loves to wander I can see

No stir of leaves, nor any waving tree.

There is a great red cliff that fronts my view

A bare, unsightly thing; it angers me

With its unswerving-grim monotony.

The mackerel weir, with branching boughs askew

Stands like a fire-swept forest, while the sea

Laps it, with soothing sighs, continually.

[Pg 55]

There are no tempests in this sheltered bay,

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