Nothing in my beat, irretrievable
That takes to treks, as something
Exiled of its own volition
Ever dispirits, within
What is both the acquainter
Of Nature, and admirer.
Gull-surrounds of loneness though tipping!
Though with an ached forlornness
Heard shore-broke. For there kinship's found.
With what of its sacredness
Is for a domain blown through.
Is that what soul responds to.