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Of what are they gossiping? God knows.
And God knows it matters little for we
cannot understand them.
Yet it is certainly of the sea, of that
there can be no question.
It is a quiet sound. Rest! That's all
I care for now.
The smell of them will put us to sleep
presently.
Smell! It is the sea water mingling here
into the river—
at least so it seems—perhaps it is some-
thing else—but what matter?
The sea water! It is quiet and smooth
here!
How slowly they move, little by little
trying
the hawsers that drop and groan with
their agony.
Yes, it is certainly of the high sea they
are talking.
WINTER SUNSET
Then I raised my head
and stared out over
the blue February waste
to the blue bank of hill
with stars on it
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