To words so peacocked in a flaunting gown,

The forms of metre he had conned so well

Were all inadequate that sigh to tell.

No further use that artificial code,

Those simpered rhymes, his petty bandbox mode

Of tight-packed trumpery. No need to pace

The solemn pavements of the commonplace.

Each little trick, each fantasy of art

Were stones that blocked th' outpourings of his heart.

He looked beyond the great inrushing sea,

Seeing at last the hidden things that be!

And of the wave he learnt a cadence sweet,

Strong as its life, a lilt of rippling feet,

Whilst from the wind that swept the answering trees

He culled the moaning rhythm of the breeze.

He weaved that whisper of the twilight sky

Into a poem, soft with melody,

It thrilled the soul in motion strong and free,

Wild as the wave, a break of ecstasy.

It kissed the borderland 'twixt heaven and earth,

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