Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/244

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THE CHAPEL BY THE SHORE.
There is a little cosy nook,
A somebody that waits for me;
That for whose smile of sweet content,
The heartless miser I'd ne'er be.

For his proud dwelling I'd not change
My humble cosy little cot,
And for his wealth I would not give
One merry laugh from Little Dot.

The Chapel by the Shore.
By the shore a plot of ground
Clips a ruined chapel round,
Buttressed with a grassy mound,
 Where day and night and day go by,
And bring no touch of human sound.

Washing of the lonely seas,
Shaking of the guardian trees,
Piping of the salted breeze:
 Day and night and day go by
To the ceaseless tune of these.

Or when as wind and waters keep
A hush more dead than any sleep,
Still morns to stiller evenings creep,
 And day and night and day go by—
Here the stillness is most deep.

And the ruins, lapsed again
Into Nature's wide domain,
Sow themselves with seed and grain
 As day and night and day go by—
And hoard June's sun and April's rain.

Here fresh funeral tears were shed;
And now the graves are also dead,
And suckers from the ash-tree spread
 As day and night and day go by,
And stars move calmly over bead.

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