NIGHTFALL

In a crumbling glory sets

The unhastening sun;

The fishers draw their shining nets;

The day is done.

Across the ruddy wine

That brims the sea

Black boats drag shoreward through the brine

Dreamily,

And dark against the glow

Firing the west,

By three and two the great gulls go

Seaward to rest.

Beneath the gradual host

Of heaven, pale

And glimmering, rides a dim sea-ghost,

A large slow sail.

Slowly she cometh on

Day's last faint breath,

Drifting across the water, wan

And gray as death.

From what far-lying land

Swimmeth thy keel,

Dim ship? And what mysterious hand

Is at thy wheel?

What far-borne news for me?

What vast release?

Quiet is in my heart, and on the sea

Peace.