By the Sea

Over the western waters the clouds are edged with flame, 
Eastward hovers the darkness whence last the lightning came, 
There's a strange voice in the evening air, a strange breath from the sea, 
And far away in London my lover dreams of me.

The long streets close about him, the miles of brick and stone. 
His are the town-stained plane trees, wherein the wind makes moan, 
The creeper by his window drops down its yellowing leaves, 
And in its cage of wicker his neighbour's pigeon grieves. 

Mine are the wild sea-swallows, the sparrow-hawk that towers, 
The mallow and the poppy, and all cliff-loving flowers. 
Mine are the crimson seaweeds, and mine the long, gray downs,
The sharp cliffs edged with umber, with chalkweed for their crowns. 

Our bodies that are severed have souls that cannot part, 
And in my beating bosom I feel my lover's heart, 
Through eyes of mine he watches the storm that drifts away, 
He hears as I am hearing the voices of the bay. 

And while the slow wave lapses, and slowly comes again,
I hear as he is hearing the branches of the plane, 
I hear the pigeon crooning, and shed on him and me 
There comes out of the sea-mist the comfort of the sea.