A SEASIDE REVERIE
I think, as I sit at my ease on the shingle,
And list to the musical voice of the Sea,
How gaily my Landlady always will mingle
From my little caddy her matutine tea.
And vainly the bitter remembrance I banish
Of mutton just eaten, my heart is full sore,
To think after one cut it's certain to vanish,
And never be seen on my board any more.
Some small store of spirit to moisten my throttle
I keep, and indulge in it once in a way;
But, bless you, it seems to fly out of the bottle
And swiftly decrease, though untouched all the day.
My sugar and sardines, my bread and my butter,
Are eaten, and vainly I fret and I frown;
My Landlady, just like an Æsthete's too utter
A fraud, and I vow that I'll go back to Town.
