Out of the depth I seem to hear

A crying in the dark:

No sound of man or wife or child,

No sound of beast that groans,

Or of the wind that whistles wild,

Or of the tree that moans:

I know not what it is I hear;

I bend my head and hark:

I cannot drive it from mine ear,

That crying in the dark.

SONG OF THE STREAM-DROPS.

By silent forest and field and mossy stone,

We come from the wooded hill, and we go to the sea.

We labour, and sing sweet songs, but we never moan,

For our mother, the sea, is calling us cheerily.

[Pg 39]

We have heard her calling us many and many a day

From the cool grey stones and the white sands far away.

The way is long, and winding and slow is the track,

The sharp rocks fret us, the eddies bring us delay,

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