(JEAN INGELOW)
Scarlet spaces of sand and ocean,
Gulls that circle and winds that blow;
Baskets and boats and men in motion,
Sailing and scattering to and fro.
Girls are waiting, their wimples adorning
With crimson sprinkles the broad grey flood;
And down the beach the blush of the morning
Shines reflected from moisture and mud.
Broad from the yard the sails hang limpy;