Language: English 
The little meadow by the sand,
Where Tamsin lies, is ringed about
With acres of the scented thyme.
The salt-wind blows in all that land;
The great clouds pass across the skies;
Rare wanderers from the ferry climb,
One might sleep well enough, no doubt,
Where Tamsin lies.

Tamsin has sunshine now and wind,
And all in life she might not have,
The silence and the utter peace
That tempest-winnowed spirits find
On slopes that front the western wave.
The white gulls circle without cease o'er Tamsin's grave.


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

Researcher for this text: Ken Edensor

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 88