The storm-light fades from the cloud-banked west, While the waves sing low; A chill creeps down thro' the vague unrest, And the pines stir slow. The timbers drift high up the shore's broad breast Where the piled sands blow, And scant grasses climb in their wandering quest Where the headboards show, To their lonely watch by the stranger guest. The moon hangs low. An eagle floats high to his hemlock nest. The far lamp glows. |