Classic Poem

Savage grey moon going down the west—
Roaring waves on the rocks at my feet—
Heart inscrutable in my breast—
Here for an hour we meet.

The moon sinks slowly through distant veils,
Fading, paling into a haze
As the quiet flood of the mist prevails
Over its flame of memorial days.

And the waves die down as night consumes
Their passion by unresisting peace.
Before the dawn shall their fierce white plumes
Droop in the glassy tide, and cease.

I alone, I alone,
While the sea grows quiet as sea-washed stone,
While the moon turns dark as a burned-out coal,
I alone keep my soul.