For each tide that bathes’t thy evening shore,
tumultuous is rendered this ocean: my being;
For a fleeting sigh of thy intending and yore
heaves my dusted now in its fury receding.
Doubtless, adore thee for always and forever
I, though if even one black robin doth nest
‘pon thy heart with woe and woeful feather,
I shall leave thee for boulevards to better rest.