Emily Pauline Johnson

Good-Bye

    Sounds of the seas grow fainter,
        Sounds of the sands have sped;
    The sweep of gales,
    The far white sails,
        Are silent, spent and dead.

    Sounds of the days of summer
        Murmur and die away,
    And distance hides
    The long, low tides,
        As night shuts out the day.