[BNP/E3, 49A3 – 59]

All my heart weeps for

Is a cottage left 

By some one before

Time into space crept,

A small cottage left

Near a silent shore.

There the constant waves

Murmur like[1] vain rest.

There the soft raves

Like a soul possessed

Of rest that not saves.

There the shore-winds breathe

Possibilities

Of less cares than wreathe

Bound our lives their cries

From up and beneath.

Where that cottage is

Rests with wishing it.

Is there where is bliss?

No, nor does bliss fit

Into that strange place.

Why desire it then?

Ah, tis different

From the homes of men.

There perhaps are blent

Dreams and what er ken.

There at least alone,

Alone by the sea,

We shall cease to moan…

To moan need not be

Where we are alone…

These are words. Let sleep

Close our eyes to find

That small cottage, deep

In Farness. We are blind

And life is to weep.

1_X_1914.

 
[1] like /their\