Thou art bread and meat and drink;
Thou art air and land and sea, love,—
Thou art paper, pens, and ink.
Thou art all of which I'm fond, love:
Thou art Whitstables from Rule's,—
"Little drops" with Spiers and Pond, love,—
Measures sweet at Mr. Poole's.
Thou art everything I lack, love,
From a month at Brighton gay
(Bar the journey there and back, love)