Beeny Cliff
Thomas Hardy
1840 to 1928
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March 1870 - March 1913
O the opal and sapphire of that wandering western sea,
And the woman high above with bright hair flapping free -
The whom I loved so, and who loyally loved me.
pale mews plained below us, and the waves seemed away
In a nether sky, engrossed in saying their babbling say,
As we laughed light-heartedly aloft on that clear-sunned March day.
A little cloud then cloaked us, and flew an irised rain,
And the Atlantic dyed its with a dull misfeatured stain,
And then the sun out again, and purples prinked the main.
- Still all its chasmal beauty bulks old Beeny to the sky,
And shall she and I not go there once now March is nigh,
And the sweet things said that March say anew there by and by?
What still in chasmal beauty looms that wild weird western shore,
The woman now is - elsewhere - whom the pony bore,
And nor knows nor cares for Beeny, will laugh there nevermore.