The sea is silent round this rocky shore;
The forest wind
From the loud level beach behind
Brings rolling up the distant water’s roar.
Silent the wheeling sea-gull in the air,
Without a cry;
Far off beneath the bending sky
A silent ship goes down the ocean stair.
The sea is blue, the sky is white with cloud,
The land is white;
The seaward rocks are shining bright,
Enwrapped in a white, salt, and icy shroud.
The weeds and bushes bare above the snow,
Against the sun
Hold up brave stems, and many a one
Has February bits of bud to show.
Where roses grew in one wild garden-close
I pulled away
A pair of rose-hips for to-day;
Memorial to the mistress of the rose.
(Philip Henry Savage)
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