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 peninsula
Where curlews wait to be reproved
And petals of a hedge-rose star
...