A SIDMOUTH LAD

By Cale Young Rice

Salcombe Hill and four hills more

Lie to leftward of this shore.

On the right Peak Hill arises

Ever rises, sickening, o'er.

Two score rotting years I've seen

Sidmouth sit those hills between:

Only Sidmouth — and twice over

Must I bide it, as I've been.

Then a churchyard hole for me,

By the dull voice of the sea.

Rotting, still in Sidmouth rotting,

Rotting to eternity.