Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/52



ABOVE the weary world is spread A sky of gentle grey, And Eve’s unhasting footstep creeps Across the quiet bay. The waves along the beach Plash ever, each on each.

The cliffs defiant brow takes on A tenderer look; the wail Of the wild sea-birds dies away; Sleep folds her gradual veil Earth’s tired eyes around, But still the seawaves sound.