 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
170
VIII. A SUNSET AT WHITBY.
When unimaginable things are ours,How quietly the heart and pulses beat;
We sit like gods in an accustomed seat,
And feel the breath of some diviner powers
To be but natural air; the spirit towers,
And puts all common things beneath our feet:
Then what we planned in dream we dare complete,
And the soul claims its royalest of dowers—
Hope that can see fulfilment. Wherefore, die
More slowly down, O Sun, and bring the dark,
And let the purple headland in the west
Hang in a saffron flood of sea and sky,
For now the fisher dreams upon his barque,
And all the wondering eyes of men are blest.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |