Classic Poem

Here in London where the days
March forlorn through misty ways,
Damp and dun, —
Looking long for golden rays,
Finding none;

In our city, where the year
Follows spring-time on its bier,
Decked in showers, —
Where our summers bring severe
Sunless flowers;

Sweet it is to gaze at thee,
Dark-haired daughter of the sea,
Of the West,
Supple, pliant as a tree
Wind-carest.

From old Cornwall's windy shore
Comest thou, whom I adore
In thy grace,
Seeing Tristram's wave-kissed oar,
Iseult's face.

All the sense of sea and sun
Thou hast brought us, thou hast won,
May divine,
With the eyes that never shun
Love in mine.

Like a sea-bird fain to rest
Thou art wind-swept from the West
To our home,
Sea-willed ever, and with breast
White as foam.