'Sconset
Did you ever hear of ’Sconset, where
there’s nothing much but moors,
And beach and sea and silence and
eternal out-of-doors,
Where the azure round of ocean
meets the paler dome of day,
Where the sailing clouds of summer
on the sea-line melt away,
And there’s not an ounce of trouble
Anywhere?
Where the field-larks in the morning
will be crying at the door,
With the whisper of the moor-wind
and the surf along the shore;
Where the little shingled houses
down the little grassy street
Are grey with salt of sea-winds, and
the strong sea-air is sweet
With the flowers in the door-yards;
Me for there!
–Bliss Carman, 1910
