Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/201

 A land that is thirstier than ruin; A sea that is hungrier than death; Heaped hills that a tree never grew in; Wide sands where the wave draws breath; All solace is here for the spirit That ever for ever may be For the soul of thy son to inherit, My mother, my sea.

O delight of the headlands and beaches! O desire of the wind on the wold, More glad than a man's when it reaches That end which it sought from of old