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Poem by William Ernest Henley


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One with the ruined sunset,
The strange forsaken sands,
What is it waits, and wanders,
And signs with desparate hands?

What is it calls in the twilight -
Calls as its chance were vain?
The cry of a gull sent seaward
Or the voice of an ancient pain?

The red ghost of the sunset,
It walks them as its own,
These dreary and desolate reaches . . .
But O, that it walked alone!



William Ernest Henley


William Ernest Henley's other poems:
  1. A Wink from Hesper
  2. London Types: Bus Driver
  3. The Ways of Death Are Soothing and Serene
  4. In Rotten Row
  5. Praise The Generous Gods


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