Loneliness.

Dear, I am lonely, for the bay is still         As any hill-girt lake; the long brown beach         Lies bare and wet. As far as eye can reach     There is no motion. Even on the hill         Where the breeze loves to wander I can see         No stir of leaves, nor any waving tree.     There is a great red cliff that fronts my view         A bare, unsightly thing; it angers me         With its unswerving-grim monotony.     The mackerel weir, with branching boughs askew         Stands like a fire-swept forest, while the sea         Laps it, with soothing sighs, continually.     There are no tempests in this sheltered bay,         The stillness frets me, and I long to be         Where winds sweep strong and blow tempestuously,     To stand upon some hill-top far away         And face a gathering gale, and let the stress         Of Nature's mood subdue my restlessness.     An impulse seizes me, a mad desire         To tear away that red-browed cliff, to sweep         Its crest of trees and huts into the deep;     To force a gap by axe, or storm, or fire,         And let rush in with motion glad and free         The rolling waves of the wild wondrous sea.     Sometimes I wonder if I am the child         Of calm, law-loving parents, or a stray         From some wild gypsy camp. I cannot stay     Quiet among my fellows; when this wild         Longing for freedom takes me I must fly         To my dear woods and know my liberty.     It is this cringing to a social law         That I despise, these changing, senseless forms         Of fashion! And until a thousand storms     Of God's impatience shall reveal the flaw         In man's pet system, he will weave the spell         About his heart and dream that all is well.     Ah! Life is hard, Dear Heart, for I am left         To battle with my old-time fears alone         I must live calmly on, and make no moan     Though of my hoped-for happiness bereft.         Thou wilt not come, and still the red cliff lies         Hiding my ocean from these longing eyes.