Classic Poem

When I come to the end of the land,
I find the sea,
With edges of cliff and breadths of sand
To pleasure me.

When I raise my town-tired eyes
There is blue and white,
Or kings and castles of stormy skies,
Or joy of night.

When I weary of all I see
And tire even of space,
I hold your love in memory,
And your dear face.