The Eyes Have It by Laurie Atkinson

A pleasing gaze on olive shores
A restful way to take one’s end,
’mong blistered groves and white-washed walls,
But of that northern earth no more.

While age may make the eyes unsure,
At least on this one can depend,
Wherever those sunken lids may fall;
A pleasing gaze on olive shores.

And yet, the heart may still long for
The heath, though bleak, a worthy friend,
For through its tread the feet recall,
Its of that northern earth no more.

And from the heighty Rookhope moor
I pray the mind can well defend,
For now all’s left with to enthral;
Its pleasing gaze on olive shores.

Those roaring, soaring strides where for,
Pursuits of beauty found their end,
Remembrance, alas can but appal
For of that northern earth no more.

At last, the grappling wind endured,
No labour calls us but to spend,
A pleasing gaze on olive shores,
But of that northern earth no more.