I Les Silhouettes

The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
   The dull dead wind is out of tune,
   And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.

   Etched clear upon the pallid 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 reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.