 | Madrigals, songs and sonnets |  |
25
TINTAGEL.
On the dark ridges of the granite steepI stood in thought, above the moaning sea,
While spirits of the unweary deep
In sun and wind were swathing me:
Round me no mirth nor human jollity
Broke the great solemn silence; yet I knew
An awful joy went throbbing through
Each ledge of rock, each curl of rippling foam:
Then to my soul the thrilling gladness flew,
And I shall bear through years to come,
Hid in dim avenues of memory,
The splendour of that visionary sleep.
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