Posthumous Poems/Evening by the Sea
EVENING BY THE SEA
It was between the night and day, The trees looked weary—one by oneAgainst the west they seemed to sway, And yet were steady. The sad sunIn a sick doubt of colour lay Across the water's belt of dun.
On the weak wind scarce flakes of foam There floated, hardly borne at allFrom the rent edge of water—some Between slack gusts the wind let fall,The white brine could not overcome That pale grass on the southern wall.
That evening one could always hear The sharp hiss of the shingle, rentAs each wave settled heavier, The same rough way. This noise was blentWith many sounds that hurt the air As the salt sea-wind came and went.
The wind wailed once and was not. Then The white sea touching its salt edge Dropped in a slow low sigh: again The ripples deepened to the ledge,Across the beach from marsh and fen Came a faint smell of rotten sedge.
Like a hurt thing that will not die The sea lay moaning; waifs of weedStrove thro' the water painfully Or lay flat, like drenched hair indeed,Rolled over with the pebbles, nigh Low places where the rock-fish feed.