Classic Poem

The dipping gull: and the long grey pool:
And the reed that shows which way the breeze blows cool,
From the wide warm sea to the low black land:
And the wave makes no sound on the soft yellow sand:
But the inland shallows sharp and small
Are swarm'd about with the sultry midge:
And the land is still, and the ocean still:
And into the silent western side
Of the heaven the moon begins to fall.
But is it the seagull's plaintive call
To her wandering mates o'er the twilit tide,
That is answer'd warily, low yet shrill,
From the sand-heapt mound and the rocky ridge?
And now o'er the dark plain so wild and wide
Floats the note of a horn from the old draw-bridge.