Round the Far Rocks

WATERS of ocean ever calling me
Round the far rocks and over summer fields,
How soon must summer sleep or cease to be !
How soon we gather what the autumn yields !
But your great voices never shall be stilled ;
They come to bid the spirit hurry hence,
And leave the thought of duties half fulfilled,
And all the cries of time and busy sense.
What music is like yours when day is done !
When death has carried my beloved away
So far I cannot hear them in the night!
What music yours when darkness walks alone !
Your mighty trumpetings foretell a day
Crowned with pale dawn where lately was no light.

Annie Fields.