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2016-03-27T16:17:33+05:30
THE GROUND SWELL

Three times we heard it calling with a low,    Insistent note; at ebb-tide on the noon;    And at the hour of dusk, when the red moonWas rising and the tide was on the flow;Then, at the hour of midnight once again,    Though we had entered in and shut the door    And drawn the blinds, it crept up from the shoreAnd smote upon a bedroom window-pane;Then passed away as some dull pang that grew    Out of the void before Eternity    Had fashioned out an edge for human grief;Before the winds of God had learned to strewHis harvest-sweepings on a winter sea    To feed the primal hungers of a reef. 

 
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