THE sea is flecked with bars of grey
 The dull dead wind is out of tune,
 And like a withered leaf the moon
 Is blown across the stormy bay.

 Etched clear upon the pallid sand
 The black boat lies: a sailor boy
 Clambers aboard in careless joy
 With laughing face and gleaming hand.

 And overhead the curlews cry,
 Where through the dusky upland grass
 The young brown-throated reapers pass,
 Like silhouettes against the sky.