Still on the sand and shingle gleams the sun;
Still an unclouded heaven arches o’er;
And still the languid billows roll and run
Down all the lengths of shore.
Still there are hints of summer in the air,
A sense of restfulness, of rapt repose;
And from remote sea gardens, lush and fair,
Rich attars like the rose.
Still a soft haze of delicate hyacinth
Broods o’er the sky-line, floating faint and far;
Still on the edge of night’s vast labyrinth
Shines the clear vesper-star.
Soon, all too soon, the spindrift and the spume,
The legions of the surge that fleetly form;
The gray, illimitable wastes of gloom–
The thunderous caves of storm!
(Clinton Scollard)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Sadness Poems, Fairness Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Summer PoemsBased on Keywords: spume, fleetly, spindrift, sky-line, restfulness, vesper-star, attars