Than these fair halls on Isis' side, Where Youth an hour came back to me A land of waters green and clear, Of willows and of poplars tall, And, in the spring time of the year, The white may breaking over all, And Pleasure quick to come at call. And summer rides by marsh and wold, And Autumn with her crimson pall About the towers of Magdalen[1] rolled; And strange enchantments from the past, And memories of the friends of old, And strong Tradition, binding fast The "flying terms" with bands of gold,—  All these hath Oxford: all are dear, But dearer far the little town, The drifting surf, the wintry year, The college of the scarlet gown, St. Andrews by the Northern sea, That is a haunted town to me! 

A haunted town it is to me!

The grey North Ocean girds it round.

The long sea-rollers surge and sound.

Drives down the melancholy street,

Towers that the salt winds vainly beat.

Clear mirrored in the wet sea-sand.

We loitered idly where the tall

Within thy desecrated wall:

The April birds sang clamorous,

How soon the Fates would sunder us!

Beyond the bay, above the town,

O, college of the scarlet gown,

And stretch of links beyond the sand,

It is as if I touched his hand!

 Prev. P 21/64 next