Page:A midsummer holiday and other poems (IA midsummerholiday00swin).pdf/94

 And forth she fared as a stout-souled rover, For a brief blithe raid on the bounding brine: And light winds ferried her light bark over To the lone soft island of fair-limbed kine. But the league-long length of its wild green border, And the small bright streets of serene St. Anne, Perplexed her sense with a strange disorder At sight of the works of man.

The world was here, and the world's confusion, And the dust of the wheels of revolving life, Pain, labour, change, and the fierce illusion Of strife more vain than the sea's old strife. And her heart within her was vexed, and dizzy The sense of her soul as a wheel that whirled: She might not endure for a space that busy Loud coil of the troublous world.