(14 September 1883 – 19 April 1922 / Gunnersbury, London)

Exile

I chose the place where I would rest
When death should come to claim me,
With the red-rose roots to wrap my breast
And a quiet stone to name me.

But I am laid on a northern steep
With the roaring tides below me,
And only the frosts to bind my sleep,
And only the winds to know me.

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''And only the frosts to bind my sleep, And only the winds to know me.'' romanticism is the key.. but with poignant and keen verse