TO A SOLITARY SEA-GULL

Lone white gull with sickle wings, You reap for the heart inscrutable things: Sorrow of mists and surf of the shore, Winds that sigh of the nevermore; Fret of foam and flurry of rain, Swept far over the troubled tide; Maths of mystery and grey pain The sea's voice ever yields, beside. Lone white gull, you reap for the heart Life's most sad and inscrutable part.