On Holme Marshes

ON Holme marshes just a while
Ago the sun went down:
I marked the passing of his disc
Beneath Hunstanton Town.
From the pine top I saw him go,
And clambered down,
And heard the music of the sea,
Saw the hard-driven tide,
And fancied old winds whispering,
And many a thing beside:
For visions gathered like the mist
As the light died.
And now, whatever shores may be
More beautiful, it seems
That Holme’s most is like the sand
Beside those silver streams
Where I long knelt and prayed, in old
Forgotten dreams.
O God, shut out the world to-night!
And let me kneel alone
To dedicate again to thee
The spurs I never won!
Or may the fey tide rock my sleep
When dreaming’s done.
  1. ‘Hollum,’ as the metre suggests. — EDITOR