The wind is crying in the night, Like a lost child;
The waves break wonderful and white And wild.
The drenched sea-poppies swoon along The drenched sea-wall, And there's an end of summer and of song -
An end of all.
The fingers of the tortured boughs Gripped by the blast Clutch at the windows of your house Closed fast.
And the lost child of love, despair, Cries in the night, Remembering how once those windows were Open and bright.
