BY THE SUMMER SEA

Sunlight and shrill cicada and the low,

Slow, sleepy kissing of the sea and shore,

And rumor of the wind. The morning wore

A sullen face of fog that lifted slow,

Letting her eyes gleam through of grayest glow;

Wearing a look like that which once she wore

When, Gloucesterward from Dogtown there, they bore

Some old witchwife with many a gibe and blow.

But now the day has put off every care,

And sits at peace beside the smiling sea,

Dreaming bright dreams with lazy-lidded eyes:

One is a castle, precipiced in air,

And one a golden galleon — can it be

‘ Tis but the cloudworld of the sunset skies?