II POOLE HARBOUR
O valiant reach of land that doth include The striving sea in such a large embrace! O valiant homes that overlook the face Of water by a hundred keels subdued! Poole, thou art map of thine own fortitude, And, in thy building, eloquent of a race That singed the beard of Spain and for a lace Fought on this quay the Georgian excise-brood. Old, and thy harbour skies more scantly sparred, Thy constant stones survey the fickle flow Of Tide and Time; and on thy casements barred Burns Memory like a crimson afterglow, Bright as the blood-red hollyhocks that blow Through the grey timber in this silent yard.