To A Sea-Cliff
(Durlston Head) Lend me an ear While I read you here A page from your history, Old cliff—not known To your solid stone, Yet yours inseparably. Near to your crown There once sat down A silent listless pair; And the sunset ended, And dark descended, And still the twain sat there. Past your jutting head Then a line-ship sped, Lit brightly as a city; And she sobbed: "There goes A man who knows I am his, beyond God's pity!" He slid apart Who had thought her heart His own, and not aboard A bark, sea-bound. . . . That night they found Between them lay a sword.
From Human Shows—Far Phantasies, published in 1925.