Treasure Island

William Bell Scott

(1811-1890 / Scotland)

A Last Walk, In Illness


Let's close the book, and underneath the blue
Stepping again where innocent daisies grow,
Sweet daisies the child's playthings long ago;
Feel the spring wind as then it briskly blew,
And hear as then we heard the shrill curlew;
Make friends with the slow cow upon the lea,
And seated on this height behold the sea.
Dear ancient sights, for me again so new.

The darkening sea, alas! night comes apace,
The sun hath touched his cloud-strewn misty goal;
To-day as every day he wins the race:
Homeward we turn, homeward we still must look
When Nature, the stern step-dame of the soul,
Closes for evermore life's half-read book.

Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010
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