Old Saquish far behind,
’Till ’mong the sister-clouds it disappears.
TWIN LIGHTS.
Out where the sirens laugh,
And winds make faces at the moon,
When cloud-wrack, glooming from the East,
Comes swaying on the blast,
And tides are babbling long-forgotten lore,
While dead men’s cups brim high,
And clash and spill about the keel;