Sara Teasdale — Nahant

Bowed as an elm under the weight of its beauty, So earth is bowed, under her weight of splendor, Molten sea, richness of leaves and the burnished        &nbsp Bronze of sea-grasses. Clefts in the cliff shelter the purple sand-peas And chicory flowers bluer than the ocean Flinging its foam high, white fire in sunshine,        &nbsp Jewels of water. Joyous thunder of blown waves on the ledges, Make me forget war and the dark war-sorrow— Against the sky a sentry paces the sea-cliff        &nbsp Slim in his khaki.