Though the sun slept upon the yellow sand, And though the ferns waved idly in the breeze, And though the green resplendent sun-kissed trees Lifted tall gracious heads on either hand,— And though the purple heather filled the land, And the pine-odour wafted o'er the leas Seemed softer than the salt strong scent of seas,— I felt a pain I could not understand. Something was wanting.—Then I climbed a hill And the blue Brighton downs beneath their haze Stretched far before me. With one wild soul-thrill And one long eager tearful burning gaze I yearned towards these, and felt my heart grow still: Then turned again to the green woodland ways. |