Little Sophy by the Seaside

Young Sophy leads a life without alloy
Of pain — she dances in the stormy air;
While her pink sash and length of golden hair
With answering motion time her step of joy!
Now turns she through that seaward gate of heaven,
That opens on the sward above the cliff, —
Glancing a moment at each barque and skiff,
Along the roughening waters homeward driven;
Shoreward she hies, her wooden spade in hand,
Straight down to childhood's ancient field of play,
To claim her right of common in the land
Where little edgeless tools make easy way —
A right no cruel Act shall e'er gainsay,
No greed dispute the freedom of the sand.