the still dusk how sighs the ebb-tide out
Reluctant for the
reed-beds! Down the sands
It washes. Hark! Beyond
the wan grey strand's
Low limits how the winding channels grieve,
Aware the evasive waters soon will leave
Them void amid the
waste of desolate lands,
to the sky the marsh expands,
And the noon heats must scar them, and the drought.
soon for them the solacing tide returns
To quench their
thirst of longing. Ah, not so
the stern law our tides of life obey!
Ebbing in the night watches swift away,
Scarce known are fled
for ever is the flow;
And in parched channel still the shrunk stream mourns.