PASTURES BY THE SEA

Here where the coves indent the shore and fall

And fill with ebb and flowing of the tides;

Whereon some barge rocks or some dory rides,

By which old orchards bloom, or, from the wall,

Pelt every lane with fruit; where gardens, tall

With roses, riot; swift my gladness glides

To that old pasture where the mushroom hides,

The chicory blooms and Peace sits mid them all.

Fenced in with rails and rocks, its emerald slopes,—

Ribbed with huge granite,— where the placid cows

Tinkle a browsing bell, roll to a height

Wherefrom the sea, bright as adventuring hopes,

Swept of white sails and plowed of foaming prows,

Leaps like a Nereid on the ravished sight.