[p 44]
]AT DINGLE
At Dingle, upon sand and shingle,
Softly the ripples curve and creep;
Without the white-caps meet and mingle,
Without the breakers range and leap.
Here there is calm, here there is quiet,
And the sweet sense of long delay;
There time and tide by winds that riot
Seem from their moorings swept away.
Which will you choose from life, my masters,—