And walk the stretching moors that fringe the ever-calling sea;
And am gladdened as the gales that are so bitter-sweet go by,
While grey clouds sweetly darken o'er my North Countrie.

For there's music in the storms, and there's colour in the shades,
And there's joy e'en in the sorrow widely brooding o'er the sea;
And larger thoughts have birth among the moors and lowly glades
And reedy mounds and sands of my North Countrie.




II.


You who know what easeful arms
Silence winds about the dead,
Or what far-swept music charms
Hearts that were earth-wearied;

You who know--if aught be known
In that everlasting Hush
Where the life-born years are strewn,
Where the eyeless ages rush,--

Tell me, is it conscious rest
Heals the whilom hurt of life?
Or is Nirvana undistressed
E'en by memory of strife?