 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
107
XXXI. A DOUBTFUL MAY.
TOMLINE HEAD, SAINT BEES.
The thrift's rose-jewelled caskets in the windTo fainter flowers each day are shaking free,
The larks are loud on Tomline Head for glee,
And eager school-boys down in Fleswick find
Rare primrose tufts, with violets, the pale kind
That take their colour from Saint Mona's sea:
With dazzling gold the gorse makes gay the lea,
The fragrant breezes have a May-day mind.
Inland o'er treeless wastes the cuckoo calls,
The new-sown fields are red from sky to sky,
But eastward, Skiddaw, like a winter ghost,
Gleams snowy cold, and hark! with bitter cry
The nesting mews upon the seaward wall
Wail, as if May and all spring hopes were lost.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |