Lives nursed in quiet, where no cares intrude,
’Mid gentle sounds, things beautiful and free,
These grow to help the world, where’er they be,
Are undisturbed by any change of mood;
But, like the Esk, from her far solitude
Of inland peace and heather-purpled lea,
They move to mingle with the stormy sea,
In uncomplaining ministry of good.
So, as I jostled down the noisy quay
And leaned upon those giant-arms of stone
That hold all Whitby’s pride in their embrace,
And nurse what weary boats will rest and stay,
Methought the Lady Hilda well had done
To plant her Abbey in so fair a place.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 166)