TIDALS

Low along the sea, low along the sea, The gray gulls are flying, and one sail swings; The tide is foaming in; the soft wind sighing; The brown kelp is stretching, to the surf, harp-strings.

Low along the sea, low along the sea, The gray gulls are flying, and one sail fades; The tide is foaming out; the soft wind dying; And white stars are peeping from the night's pale shades.