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SALT
winds are lashing the seas on high
At the base of the rocks round the grim grey land,
Low clouds are veiling the grief-bow'd sky,
And the spray drives like mist on the spume-specked
sand.
Sea-mews are crying and circling low,
All is sad and all is gloom,
All is of tears and of sorrows untold
Where the land ends and the seas gleam cold.
Black clouds are hiding the grief-bow'd sky,
And the Hope of all Hope will grow feeble and die.
There
is never a sail on the grey-green waste,
No life but the birds and no sound but the sea,
White gleams the foam where the breakers have raced,
And the gathering waters run fearful and free.
Raindrops are falling in shimmering sheets,
All is dark and all is death,
All is of tears and of sorrows untold
Where the land ends and the seas gleam cold.
Black clouds are hiding the grief-bow'd sky,
And the Hope of all Hope will grow feeble and die.
Light
clouds are racing in joyous array
In the glorious gold of the sun's delight,
And the seas are all soothed in the lap of the day
To a damask of blue and a ribbon of white.
The sea-mew is screeching and circling high,
Winging aloft with a tremulous cry;
All is athrob with the thrill of it all
Where the land ends and the cool seas call.
The waters are soothed in the lap of the Spring.
And the Hope of all Hope is in everything.
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