PER OMNIA D EUS

What moves at Cardiff, how a man
At Newport ends the day as he began,
At Weston what adventure may befall,
What Bristol dreams, or if she dream at all,
Upon the pier, with step sedate,
I meditate —
Poor souls! whose God is Mammon —
Meanwhile, from Ocean's gate,
Keen for the foaming spate,
The true God rushes in the salmon.