The Sea Takes. . .
by Cale Young Rice
A gleaming glassy ocean Under a sky of grey; A tide that dreams of motion, Or moves, as the dead may; A bird that dips and wavers Over lone waters round, Then with a cry that quavers Is gone—a spectral sound. The brown sad sea-weed drifting Far from the land, and lost; The faint warm fog unlifting, The derelict long tossed, But now at rest—though haunted By the death-scenting shark, Whose prey no more undaunted Slips from it, spent and stark.