Клинтон Сколлард (Clinton Scollard)

Autumn by the Sea

  Still on the sand and shingle gleams the sun;
    Still an unclouded heaven arches o'er;
  And still the languid billows roll and run
    Down all the lengths of shore.

  Still there are hints of summer in the air,
    A sense of restfulness, of rapt repose;
  And from remote sea gardens, lush and fair,
    Rich attars like the rose.

  Still a soft haze of delicate hyacinth
    Broods o'er the sky-line, floating faint and far;
  Still on the edge of night's vast labyrinth
    Shines the clear vesper-star.

  Soon, all too soon, the spindrift and the spume,
    The legions of the surge that fleetly form;
  The gray, illimitable wastes of gloom—
    The thunderous caves of storm!

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