Les Silhouettes¹

　　The sea is flecked with bars of grey，

　　The dull dead wind is out of tune²，

　　And like a withered³ leaf the moon

　　Is blown across the stormy bay.

　　Etched clear upon the pallid⁴ sand

　　Lies the black boat： a sailor boy

　　Clambers aboard in careless joy

　　With laughing face and gleaming hand.

　　And overhead the curlews cry，

　　Where through the dusky upland grass

　　The young brown-throated reapers⁵ pass，

　　Like silhouettes against the sky.