(Who, being very polite, only thought it.)
SONNET: TREES ARE NOT SHIPS
There is no magic in a living tree,
And, if they be not sea-gulls, none in birds:
My soul is seasick, and its only words
Murmur desire for things more like a sea.
In this dry landscape here there seems to be
No water, merely persons in large herds,
Who, by their long remarks, their arid girds,
Come from the Poetry Society.