GIVE me the pulse of the tide again

And the slow lapse of the leaves,

The rustling gold of a field of grain

And a bird in the nested eaves;

And a fishing-smack in the old harbour

Where all was happy and young;

And an echo or two of the songs I knew

When songs could still be sung.

For I would empty my heart of all

This world's implacable roar,

And I would turn to my home, and fall

Asleep in my home once more;

And I would forget what the cities say,

And the folly of all the wise,

And turn to my own true folk this day,

And the love in their constant eyes.

There is peace, peace, where the sea-birds wheel,

And peace in the breaking wave;

And I have a broken heart to heal,

And a broken soul to save.