Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.

A Lynmouth Widow

HE was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue

As the summer meeting of sky and sea,

And the ruddy cliffs had a colder hue

Than flushed his cheek when he married me.

We passed the porch where the swallows breed,

We left the little brown church behind,

And I leaned on his arm, though I had no need,

Only to feel him so strong and kind.

One thing I never can quite forget;

It grips my throat when I try to pray—

The keen salt smell of a drying net

That hung on the churchyard wall that day.

He would have taken a long, long grave—

A long, long grave, for he stood so tall …

Oh, God, the crash of a breaking wave,

And the smell of the nets on the churchyard wall!