I shall miss
The damp spring smell,
Heavy salt swell,
Of the ebb tide,
Where white gulls ride
Their dead wood rafts to the sea.
Though I shall be,
By and by,
Far from this broad sky,
Black-flecked with cormorants’ wings,
And the poplars where the robin sings.
Still I will keep,
In waking and in sleep,
The image of this, my river flowing,
In the foreign place where I am going.