By the Seaside

The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest,
And the wild storm somewhere found a nest.
Air stumbles - wave with wave no longer strives,
Only a heaving of the deep survives;
A tell-tale motion! Soon will be laid
And the side alone the water swayed.
Stealthy with drawings, breeze mild,
Of light with shade in beauty reconciled...
And some, too heedless of past danger, court
Fresh gates to waft them to the far-off port
But near, or hanging sea and sky between,
Not open of all those winged powers seen.
Seen in her course, this quiet heard;
Yet oh! How gladly would the air be stirred
By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise,
Soft in its temper as those vesper lays.