 | Madrigals, songs and sonnets |  |
171
XXI. ANSTEY'S COVE.
INSCRIBED TO W. A. P.
Walter, when through the thirsty streets and squares
Of London, in the burning sun of June,
We wander, and the too-melodious tune
Of barrel-organs chafes us unawares,
What would we give to rise on sudden wings,
And fly where southward lay our mutual home,
Where in the rock-pools boils the smitten foam,
Or where from corn-fields soars the lark and sings!
One day shall be to us for ever dear,
When on the quarried margin of the shore
We sat with the sea-music in our ear,
Until the solitude our spirits bore
Into sweet depths of thought, where grief and fear
Sank, and were drown'd in love to rise no more!
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