As if blown out or born of night.
It is enough, they turn; away!
The sun is high, the sands are hot
To touch, and all the tawny plain,
That glistens white with salt sea sand,
Sinks white and open as they tread
And trudge, with half-averted head,
As if to swallow them amain.
They look, as men look back to land
When standing out to stormy sea,