POEMS OF SUSSEX PLACES.
To me is peace, thy restlessness repose.
Ev'n gladly I exchange yon spring-green lanes,
With all the darling field-flowers in their prime,
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's
Long trills and gushing ecstasies of song,
For these wild headlands and the sea-mew's clang.
With thee beneath my windows, pleasant Sea !
I long not to o'erlook Earth's fairest glades
And green savannahs : Earth has not a plain
So boundless or so beautiful as thine.
The eagle's vision cannot take it in :
The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space,
Sinks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird.
It is the mirror of the stars, where all
Their hosts within the concave firmament,
Gay marching to the music of the spheres,
Can see themselves at once.
Nor on the stage Of rural landscape are there lights and shades Of more harmonious dance and play than thine. How vividly this moment brightens forth, Between grey parallel and leaden breaths, A belt of hues that stripes thee many a league, Flush'd like the rainbow, or the ring-dove's neck, And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wing The semblance of a meteor!
Mighty Sea! Camelon-like thou changest, but there's love In all thy change, and constant sympathy With yonder Sky—thy Mistress; from her brow Thou takest thy moods, and wear'st her colours on Thy faithful bosom ; morning's milky white,