There's loss in the Atlantic sky,
Smoking her course from sea to sea,
Whitening an absence, till the eye
Aches dazed above the mainmast tree.
      The fuchsia shakes her lanterns out;
      The stiffening winds must go about.

Green breakers pile across the moor
Whose frayed horizons ebb and flow;
Grass hisses where the garden floor
Pulls to a wicked undertow.
      A ragged Admiral of the Red
      Beats up and down the flowerbed.

Granite, unmoving and unmoved,
Rides rough-shod our peninsular
Where curlews wait to be reproved
And petals of a hedge-rose star
...