Hangs hushed as when the Host is lifted,
While, flanks astrain and rigging bare,
The last boat to the port has drifted....
Nought left but the lost wind that grieves
On darkening seas and furling sails,
And the long light that Beauty leaves
Upon her fallen veils....
LES SALETTES
[December 1923]
Let all my waning senses reach
To clasp again that secret beach,