Good-Bye
From Wikisource
| ←The Art of Alma-Tadema | Flint and Feather by Good-Bye |
In Grey Days→ |
Sounds of the seas grow fainter,
Sounds of the sands have sped;
The sweep of gales,
The far white sails,
Are silent, spent and dead.
Sounds of the days of summer
Murmur and die away,
And distance hides
The long, low tides,
As night shuts out the day.
