REQUIEM.

THE low tide creeps along the shore;

The sun is in the sea;

But sea and sun brood darkness, for

My friend has gone from me.

What matter tho' the restless pines

Greet all salt winds that blow,

If that still face which westward shines

Be not the face I know?

O riding sun, O sinking sun!

O waves that rise and fall

Above the voiceless lips of one

Who heeds you not at all!

So let him sleep, mourn'd only with

Wind-whispers of the sea

About that unseen monolith -

With nature's threnody!