Page:Andromeda, and other poems - Kingsley (1858).djvu/78

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ELEGIACS.
Blossoms would fret me with beauty; my heart has no time to bepraise them; Grey rock, bough, surge, cloud, waken no yearning within. Sing not, thou sky-lark above ! even angels pass hushed by the weeper. Scream on, ye sea-fowl! my heart echoes your desolate cry. Sweep the dry sand on, thou wild wind, to drift o'er the shell and the sea-weed; Sea-weed and shell, like my dreams, swept down the pitiless tide. Just is the wave which uptore us; 'tis nature's own law which condemns us; Woe to the weak who, in pride, build on the faith of the sand! Joy to the oak of the mountain: he trusts to the might of the rock-clefts; Deeply he mines, and in peace feeds on the wealth of the stone. *****
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