And there was nought of strange, beside
The flights of mews and pewits pied
By millions crouch’d on the old sea wall.
I sat and spun within the doore,
My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes,
The level sun, like ruddy ore,
Lay sinking in the barren skies;
And dark against day’s golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,
My sonne’s faire wife, Elizabeth.