Here is veritable June,
Heart's content and spirit's boon.
It is scarce a hand-breadth wide,
Not a span from side to side,
Yet it is an open door
Looking back to joy once more,
Where the level marshes lie,
A quiet journey of the eye,
And the unsubstantial blue
Makes the fine illusion true.
So I forth and travel there
In the blessed light and air,
Miles of green tranquillity
Down the river to the sea.
Here the sea-birds roam at will,
And the sea-wind on the hill
Brings the hollow pebbly roar
From the dim and rosy shore,
With the very scent and draft
Of the old sea's mighty craft.