Sea Ghosts

There is a world-old law that justly bids
All searchers of the main,
Strong sea-tanned men,
That sometime in the misty twilight, when
Sun-wearied lids
Are almost closed, they must see home again.

So where a long long line of lonely hills
Creeps down to meet the sea
Grey gulls may know
How, sometimes, phantom-crowded, come old slow
Forgotten shapes; and then a ghost-wind stills
The soft wave-laps awhile and sets them free—

—Free to fare out under some guiding star,
For all eternity
To sail away
To find a never-trodden new Cathay,
Some fitting Valhalla
For those who long ago so loved the sea.

H.R.B.