To me is peace—thy restlessness repose.
E'en gladly I exchange your spring-green lanes
With all the darling field-flowers in their prime,
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's
Long trills and gushing ecstacies of song
For these wild headlands and the sea mew's clang—
With thee beneath my window, pleasant Sea,
I long not to o'erlook Earth's fairest glades
And green savannahs—Earth has not a plain
So boundless or so beautiful as thine;