Iii

Once I walked in the heather, Cliffs sheer downward touched the breast of the sea. Meadows ’round me stretched and kissed together, Met in oceans of gold grain feather Mad with poppies, red as blood may be. Summer’s glory to glory ran;--nor sense knew whether It were godliest born, the blue of the sea Or the whispering ocean of fields, as shoreless! Then the tether Of time slipped loose, and Future showed to me, Cliff-high,--sea-girt,--there in the Norman weather All of my youth Belovèd, I dreamed of thee.