SEA LURE

It is so, O sea! wild roses

Bloom here in the scent of your brine.

And the juniper round them closes,

And the bays amid them twine,

To guard and to praise their beauty;

And the gulls above them cry,

And the stern rocks stand on duty,

Where the surf beats white and high.

It is so, O sea! wild roses,

With the day-long fog bedrenched,

Have come from their inland closes

With a thirst for you unquenched.

And over your cliffs they clamber,

And over your vast they gaze;

For the tides of you can enamour

Even them with their woodland ways.

Yea, the passion of you and the power

And the largeness are a lure

To even the heart of a flower,

O sea, with a heart unsure!

For love is a thing unsated,

Nor ever in any breast

Has it dwelt, all want abated,

At rest.