M. T. W.

Far swept from Lundy, spanned from side to side
With heaven's blue arch, the ocean waters flow;
Sweet May has piled her pyramids of snow,
And the fair land is glorious as a bride,
That chooses summer for her hour of pride:
The lordly sun, with his great heart a-glow,
Is fain to kiss all things that bud and blow,
And Maurice sleeps, nor hears the murmuring tide.
Fine spirit, wheresoe'er, a quester keen,
You mark the asphodel with prints of pearl,
Breathing the freshness of the early lawns;
O darling, clad in light of tend'rest sheen,
Hard by the nest of some celestial merle
We yet shall see you when the morning dawns.