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 gray flood;
And down the beach the blush of the morning,
Shines reflected from moisture and mud.
Broad from the yard the sails hang limpy,
Lightly the steersman whistles a lay;