Chapter XXIX

A quiet southern bay; a quiet sea
That scarcely breaks along the level sands;
An ecstasy of little children’s glee;
A weight of grief that no one understands.

Slow-moving sails, with curves of grace complete
As ever beauty-loving pencil drew;
A ceaseless play of pretty hands and feet;
A want for ever deep, for ever new.

Peace on the teeming earth, goodwill and peace
In the clear blue and floating cloudlets white;
Crownèd the land with joy of her increase;
Quenched my desire and vanished my delight.

A sea-bird said: I know, I know the pain;
He will not see the summer-tide again.