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1841–1909

VII.

Thomas Runciman

A gurly breeze swept from the pool The Autumn peace so blue and cool, Which all day long had dreamed thereon Of men and things aforetime gone,

Their vanished joy, their ended dule: So glooms the sea, so sounds her brool, As from the East at eve comes on A gurly breeze.

Sense yields to Fancy‘ neath whose rule This inland scene is quickly full Of ocean moods wherein I con As in a picture; quickly gone.

To what sweet use the mind may school A gurly breeze!

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VII. · Thomas Runciman · Poetry Cove