Poems (Hinchman)/When the bright glare of the high day is past
VIII
When the bright glare of the high day is past, And kindly evening soothes the painful world; When every flower with blessed dew is pearl'dAnd gentle bird-songs whisper peace at last;Then have I gaz'd upon the ocean vast That ceaseless heaves, with his proud waves upcurl'd, When even the winds their energies have furl'dAnd rest, like sails dropp'd from the straining mast.
And in my heart a voice, strong as the tide, Speaks of like hearts that ceaselessly do beat On the steep shores of rough mortality;While the pale stars in their far spheres abide And bid the sea with his wild voice repeat The constant tale of deepest mystery.