TIDALS

Low along the sea, low along the sea,

The gray gulls are flying, and one sail swings;

The tide is foaming in; the soft wind sighing;

The brown kelp is stretching, to the surf, harp-strings.

Low along the sea, low along the sea,

The gray gulls are flying, and one sail fades;

The tide is foaming out; the soft wind dying;

And white stars are peeping from the night's pale shades.