Poetry
Sea
I couLD never be lonely with the sea near
singing its interminable song, as the little green-clear waves come tumbling along.
There can be nothing lonely about the seat with its lap, lap, on the shingle beach,
where the round pebbles run merrily in the sun, red, blue, and silvery, as each rolls over each.
There can be nothing lonely where rock-pools are
gay with sea-flowers and swept by the tide, and the fringed anemones sway to some watery breeze deep down, where a golden star and tasselled jewels ride.
For I have always loved to be near the sea,—•
between it and the big rolling hills,— when the plaintive gulls cry out of a steel-blue sky, and the sea sings to me .
the sea that loves or kills.
So I would live in a small house by the seas with a tiny garden full of flowers, and a room where books are, and Tacky* in a jar, with one to welcome me and cheer the evening hours.
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