I <br />O the opal and the sapphire of that wandering western sea, <br />And the woman riding high above with bright hair flapping free- <br />The woman whom I loved so, and who loyally loved me. <br /> <br />I I <br />The pale mews plained below us, and the waves seemed far away <br />In a nether sky, engrossed in saying their ceaseless babbling say, <br />As we laughed light-heartedly aloft on that clear-sunned March day. <br /> <br />III <br />A little cloud then cloaked us, and there flew an irised rain, <br />And the Atlantic dyed its levels with a dull misfeatured stain, <br />And then the sun burst out again, and purples prinked the main. <br /> <br />IV <br />-Still in all its chasmal beauty bulks old Beeny to the sky, <br />And shall she and I not go there once again now March is nigh, <br />And the sweet things said in that March say anew there by and by? <br /> <br />V <br />What if still in chasmal beauty looms that wild weird western shore, <br />The woman now is-elsewhere-whom the ambling pony bore, <br />And nor knows nor cares for Beeny, and will laugh there nevermore.<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/beeny-cliff/
