of the west
Nature’s thoughts are stirring, gusts of passion
   Ruffle the embroidery on her breast.

Far away a trouble on the waters
   ’Gins to whiten, then a living veil
Drops down from the sky, black gleam the headlands,
   Gleam the hills through drifts of shadowy trail.

And the weird wild freedom of the marshland
   Stretches, breadths on breadths of level gold,
Where the storm-scuds wander, and the rainbow
   In the midst lets fall its glittering hold.

Broad, bright plain, free wanderland of fancy,
   Robed in colours, all the sun can weave
Out of silver seas, and hill-sides glooming,
   Molten in the ruddy fires of eve,

Cloth of gold from sands, and silken tissue
   Spun from the blue distance, threads of white
Shot through by the rivers, crimson buddings
   Of the oak groves flushed with spring delight.

He on whom the deep eyes once have turned their
   Hidden splendours, be he where he will,
Evermore a prophet’s dream enfolding,
   Walks with yearnings which he ne’er can fill.

XI.
SHELLS.

Fairies all, whoever ran
Pell-mell from smoke-witted man,
Scared from haunted well and tree
Fairy mermaidens to be,
Colonists of fairy sea;
Empire found, and perils o’er,
Soon ye peeped out on the shore,
Frolic-bold as heretofore;
Village green and woodland spells
Lightly changed for shells O, shells!
Your sea besoms twice a day
Swish, and swirl, and hissing spray,
Brush all mortal taint away.
Twice a day the saucy waves,
Heads bent low, your merry slaves,
Tumble in of shells a store
From the sea-king’s palace floor.
On a day remembered well,
Never butterfly befell
Brighter bursting from his cell,
Picked we the first fairy shell.
Time his hinge had backward swung,
Youth and Age together sprung
In a world where all was young.
Age was young and Youth as old,
Age and Youth, two children bold,
Caught old Time with potent spells,
Magic words of shells O, shells!
Shells—the very air did seem
Opening into some bright dream,
And an unseen gladness swept
All around us as we stept.
Miles of hope before us lay,
Golden, glistening sheets of day,
With a sea-charm washed alway,
Fairy-sprinkled! who could tell?
Every yard might give its shell;
Little Cockles’ pearly sheen,
Chariot fit for fairy queen,
Pectens, dipped in colours won
From the rays slipped off the sun
In the waves, when day is done.
Here a ripple in and out
Mocking whirls the Cones about,
Brings them to our fingers, then
Laughs, and swings them off again.
There a dark line softly lies
Rich in promise ’neath the skies;
Happy he foredoomed to burst
On that fairy treasure first,
Ere assailed by foot accurst,
Or the jealous, tricksy sea
Rushing catch him to the knee,
And with slow malicious glee
Gently suck it back; ah me!
Shells O, shells! the slanted hail,
Thunder-driven, blind, and pale,
Beat on rovers bent, subdued,
Each apart in solitude,
Nursing his own woeful mood.
Lo! a shell bank—at the cry
Sunshine flashed along the sky,
Reckless-bright each sunny eye
Glistened, on the