In “South Pacific,” the speaker remembers standing with a loved one before a dramatic evening seascape—red sun, deep blue sky, long clouds, and foam like little archipelagos on ruby-lit water. The repeated “How often” suggests these moments were not rare but part of a shared life, and the person he was with admired the sea especially.
Now the same scenery has returned, but on “a distant sea,” and he is alone. The beauty is still there, yet it feels incomplete because there is no companion to notice it with him. The mood is quiet and wistful: not angry grief, but a lonely ache for someone whose presence once made the familiar colors and light feel meaningful. The poem turns a postcard-like scene into a meditation on how much of beauty depends on being shared.