THE wind stept lightly down

From his chariot in the sea;

On his face was never a frown

As he kist her tenderly

Who was dreaming her soul for ever away

For one gone seawards at break of day.

The waves ran merrily o'er,

In a dazzling laughter of foam,

The yellow paths o' the shore,

When a little boat came home.

One sang with glee as she waited there,

And a blithe wind-welcome stirr'd her hair.

The poet lookt and saw

Thro' the blind storm-whirl, far out,

The rock, like a monster's paw,

Splashing the seas about -

With never a thought of the dreamless dead

Under the sea-weed canopied.

And he said, "O terrible seas

That bellow and beat the land,

Be ye at strife or at peace,

O seas, ye are in His hand."

The spray-song and wind-song rang thro' his ears,

Not the hollow moan of a woman's tears!

F.