BEACH-GRASS. 



A LEADEN sky above a leaden sea, 



A sandy beach, with wreck of sea-weed strewn, 

 No sound but Ocean's cheerless monotone, 

 And not a flower to bear me company ! 

 So moaned my heart one dull November day. 

 Lifting my downcast eyes, I grew aware 

 Of a near, helpful presence : everywhere, 

 Down to the sea's white verge, in staunch array, 

 Rank upon rank, the steadfast beach-grass stood ; 

 Strength and content in all its sweeping curves, 

 Type of a soul that bows but never swerves. 

 Nobly didst thou rebuke my plaintive mood, 

 O faithful watcher of the cliffs and dunes, 

 Writing upon the sands thy mystic runes. 

 NOVEMBER. 



