Classic Poem

Nothing is here but beauty: a blue dome,
Cloudless, in Ireland the land of cloud;
A bluer sea, not clamoring with the loud
Homeric music of the waves that roam
The rocks and inlets white with angry foam,
But gentle as a lion's sleep; yon proud
Blue sloping headland, firm as though it plowed
The yielding sea, as the keen share the loam.

'Twixt here and home nothing but beauty lies
Across the lonely leagues from land to land.
Ocean, thou confidant of smiles and sighs,
Tell her who lingers on another strand
That I forget not, but as evening dies
I write a name of beauty on the sand.