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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
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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