THE low tide creeps along the shore;
The sun is in the sea;
But sea and sun brood darkness, for
My friend has gone from me.
What matter tho' the restless pines
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Greet all salt winds that blow,
If that still face which westward shines
Be not the face I know?
O riding sun, O sinking sun!
O waves that rise and fall
Above the voiceless lips of one
Who heeds you not at all!
So let him sleep, mourn'd only with
Wind-whispers of the sea
About that unseen monolith -
With nature's threnody!
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