Or when, on a windy summer day,
(The golden sunshine-gleam on the bay)
To me, ensconced far out on the high
And rocky weed-strewn promontory,
Come multitudinous sights and sounds—
The rush of the boisterous wave which bounds
Far up the cliff, the sea-bird's call,
The flying spume, the cloudlets small
That dance through the ether hand in hand—
The joy suffused o'er the sea and the land,—