(Entered for competition, D.S.S.)

Amid the city’s bustle, haste and noise
In office dark alone I sit, with hands
‘Pon my hot brow, and turn my thoughts to joys
Of old remembrances and distant lands.

My island-home is pictured ‘fore mine eyes
With babbling brooks and fields of waving corn.
The sea-gulls wheeling white with piercing cries
Are ruddy-hued with radiance from the dawn.

I see the rock of Conister again,
Asleep like some great monster in the bay,
Slow rising from its slumber in the main
To greet as aye the miracle of day.

My terraced town of Douglas flanks the shore,
Like people grouped upon the slope to see
What entertainment is for them in store;
And at their back the hills rise mistily.

Among those hills the only lofty peak
I see the rounded top of Snaefell rise;
Colden, and all the rest; if they could speak
What visions they could put before my eyes.

I see the roofs of Castletown where rears
The Castle Rushen, grim and squat and grey,
A staunch old veteran of a thousand years,
A silent witness of another day.

The Sound and Kitterland, the Calf of Man,
The sheer slate cliffs like black and shiny walls,
And narrow inlets, no more than a span,
And noise of seas booming in rocky halls.

I see the red sails of the drifters fill,
Each fisher’s family to provide with bread,
Tossed on the stormy waves below the hill
Where lies the city Peel with castle red.

And so I dream while Ramsey thus flies past
And Douglas once again comes into sight;
The vision fades, and I arise at last
With added zest to better my poor plight.