| |
| ONE shadow glides from the dumb shore, | |
| And one from every silent sail. | |
| One cloud the averted heavens wear, | |
| A soft mask, thin and frail. | |
| |
| Oh, silver is the lessening rain, | 5 |
| And yellow was the weary drouth. | |
| The reef her warning finger puts | |
| Upon the harbor’s mouth. | |
| |
| Her thin, wan finger, stiff and stark, | |
| She holds by night, she holds by day. | 10 |
| Ask, if you will: no answer makes | |
| The sombre, guarded bay. | |
| |
| The fleet, with idle canvas hung, | |
| Like a brute life, sleeps patiently. | |
| The headlights nod across the cliff, | 15 |
| The fog blows out to sea. | |
| |
| There is no color on the tide, | |
| No color on the helpless sky; | |
| Across the beach—a safe, small sound— | |
| The grass-hid crickets cry. | 20 |
| |
| And through the dusk I hear the keels | |
| Of home-bound boats grate low and sweet. | |
| O happy lights! O watching eyes! | |
| Leap out the sound to greet. | |
| |
| O tender arms that meet and clasp! | 25 |
| Gather and cherish while ye may. | |
| The morrow knoweth God. Ye know | |
| Your own are yours to-day. | |
| |
| Forever from the Gloucester winds | |
| The cries of hungry children start. | 30 |
| There breaks in every Gloucester wave | |
| A widowed woman’s heart. | |
| |
