 | Under the dawn |  |
4.
For not the mountains, not the lordly void
Of untempestuous and ecstatic air
That finds 'mid those high summits cool and fair
A resting-place and temple unalloyed,
Not these allure me—nor, by these decoyed,
Do I forget, sweet muse, my native lair—
The home, still more significant, of her
By whose sweet face my fainting youth was buoyed.
Of untempestuous and ecstatic air
That finds 'mid those high summits cool and fair
A resting-place and temple unalloyed,
Not these allure me—nor, by these decoyed,
Do I forget, sweet muse, my native lair—
The home, still more significant, of her
By whose sweet face my fainting youth was buoyed.
Amid the marshes spreading towards the deep,
By Woolwich and by Gravesend, with the power
Of coming ocean-life upon their sleep,
I still can linger many a happy hour,
And many a happy silent watch can keep,
Happier than in a fern-clad mountain bower.
By Woolwich and by Gravesend, with the power
Of coming ocean-life upon their sleep,
I still can linger many a happy hour,
And many a happy silent watch can keep,
Happier than in a fern-clad mountain bower.
| Under the dawn | |