By The Seashore, Isle Of Man

Why stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine, With wonder smit by its transparency, And all-enraptured with its purity? Because the unstained, the clear, the crystalline, Have ever in them something of benign; Whether in gem, in water, or in sky, A sleeping infant's brow, or wakeful eye Of a young maiden, only not divine. Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm For beverage drawn as from a mountain-well; Temptation centres in the liquid Calm; Our daily raiment seems no obstacle To instantaneous plunging in, deep Sea! And reveling in long embrace with thee.