The Sun burns fiercely down the skies;
The sea is full of flashing eyes;
The waves glide shoreward serpentwise 
And fawn with foamy tongues on stark
Gray rocks, each sharp-toothed as a shark,
And hiss in clefts and channels dark. 

Blood-purple soon the waters grow,
As though drowned sea-kings fought below
Forgotten fights of long ago. 

The gray owl Dusk its wings has spread;
The sun sinks in a blossom-bed
Of poppy-clouds; the day is dead.