Seaside
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wiftly out from the friendly lilt of the band,The crowd's good laughter, the loved eyes of men,I am drawn nightward; I must turn againWhere, down beyond the low untrodden strand,There curves and glimmers outward to the unknownThe old unquiet ocean. All the shadeIs rife with magic and movement. I stray aloneHere on the edge of silence, half afraid, Waiting a sign. In the deep heart of meThe sullen waters swell towards the moon,And all my tides set seaward.From inlandLeaps a gay fragment of some mocking tune,That tinkles and laughs and fades along the sand,And dies between the seawall and the sea. On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess
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