Beeny Cliff

March 1870 - March 1913


I

O the opal and the sapphire of that wandering western sea,
And the woman riding high above with bright hair flapping free --
The woman whom I loved so, and who loyally loved me.

II

The pale mews plained below us, and the waves seemed far away
In a nether sky, engrossed in saying their ceaseless babbling say,
As we laughed light-heartedly aloft on that clear-sunned March day.

III

A little cloud then cloaked us, and there flew an irised rain,
And the Atlantic dyed its levels with a dull misfeatured stain,
And then the sun burst out again, and purples prinked the main.

IV

-- Still in all its chasmal beauty bulks old Beeny to the sky,
And shall she and I not go there once again now March is nigh,
And the sweet things said in that March say anew there by and by?

V

Nay. Though still in chasmal beauty looms that wild weird western shore,
The woman now is -- elsewhere -- whom the ambling pony bore,
And nor knows nor cares for Beeny, and will see it nevermore.


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