Solitude

'Wish! and it's thine!' the changeling piped,

Shrill from her thorn.

And I with dew-soaked shoes could only

Stare in return.

High up above me sang the lark,

Beneath me lay the sea,

Gorse, bramble, rock, and winchat were

My only company.

Her tiny voice fell faint, and lo,

Where she had been,

Leaned but a few-days-budded rose

Out of the green.