In vacant or in pensive mood,
And be one traveler, long I stood
To cool in the peppermint wind
Of a surf-tormented shore.
The dews drew quivering and chill:
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
The roof was scarcely visible.
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Yet if hope has flown away
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
Somewhere ages and ages hence
My heart moves from cold to fire,
And dances with the daffodils.
the sieve and the sand 
You write with a style I haven’t encountered elsewhere. Fresh prose, precise word choice…well done!
-GD
Visit my writing blog at http://shelleddreams.wordpress.com/
An ironic comment considering that not a single word is my own. All lines in the poem are the exact lines from a handful of various well-known poets and their respective poems.
But well compiled, none the less.
and compilation is the third highest form of flatulence