Then loose thy song! Though no grave ear may list
Its lyric trouble, still 'tis soothing sweet
To know that songs unheard and graces missed
By every eye melt on the skies that nourish
Us with immortal blue; and, changed, repeat
Their protean loveliness in all we cherish.
For beauty cannot die, howe'er 'tmay fleet.
[STORM-EBB]
Dusking amber dimly creeps
Over the vale,
Lit by the kildee's silver sweeps,
Sad with his wail.
Eastward swing the silent clouds
Into the night.
Burdens of day they seem—in crowds
Hurled from earth's sight.
Tilting gulls whip whitely far
Over the lake,
Tirelessly on o'er buoy and spar
Till they o'ertake
Shadow and mingled mist—and then
Vanish to wing
Still the bewildering night-fen,
Where the waves ring.
Dusking amber dimly dies
Out of the vale.
Dead from the dunes the winds arise—
Ghosts of the gale.