If couched they hear beneath the matted camomile!
LXIII
Bid them good-by before last friend has sung and supped!
Because we pick our path and need our eyes,—abrupt
Descent enough,—but here 's the beach, and there 's the bay,
And, opposite, the streak of Île Noirmoutier.
Thither the waters tend; they freshen as they haste,
At feel o' the night-wind, though, by cliff and cliff embraced,
This breadth of blue retains its self-possession still;
As you and I intend to do, who take our fill