I watch the narrowing flats, the strip
Of red clay at the water's lip;
Far off the net-reels, brown and high,
And boat-masts slim against the sky;
Along the ridges of the dikes
Wind-beaten scant sea-grass, and spikes
Of last year's mullein; down the slopes
To landward, in the sun, thick ropes
Of blue vetch, and convolvulus,
And matted roses glorious.
The liberal blooms o'erbrim my hands;
I walk the level, wide marsh-lands;
Waist-deep in dusty-blossomed grass
I watch the swooping breezes pass
In sudden, long, pale lines, that flee
Up the deep breast of this green sea.
I listen to the bird that stirs
The purple tops, and grasshoppers
Whose summer din, before my feet
Subsiding, wakes on my retreat.