ON the beach where break the surges,
'Mid the flashing crystal spray,
As the fog rolled off at dawning,
Cold and still a fair girl lay.
Tangled folds of frozen ringlets
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Half concealed the lovely face,
And the hand of cunning master
Could have added naught of grace.
Soft the wild waves broke about her,
Sadly rolled they out again;
Others came to kiss the fairest
Martyr to the boisterous main.
Richer grew the hue of heaven,
And the sun rose from the east,
While the waves kept chanting requiems,
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