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Beeny Cliff

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

by Thomas Hardy
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