X.

Alway! alway? must this be? Rapid Soul from city gone, Dost thou carry inwardly What doth make the city's moan? Must this deep sigh of thine own Haunt thee with humanity? Green visioned banks that are too steep To be o'erbrowzed by the sheep, May all sad thoughts adown you creep Without a shepherd? Mighty sea, Can we dwarf thy magnitude And fit it to our straitest mood? O fair, fair Nature, are we thus Impotent and querulous Among thy workings glorious, Wealth and sanctities, that still Leave us vacant and defiled And wailing like a soft-kissed child, Kissed soft against his will?