I have dreams of a sweet maid biding
Under a thatch of brown.
But here I lie all huddled and hidden,
(Oh, the eternity it seems!)
Brooding desolate and bed-ridden,
Living only in dreams!
[p 9]
]AN EXILE
I can remember the plaint of the wind on the moor,
Crying at dawning, and crying at shut of the day,
And the call of the gulls that is eerie and dreary and dour,