The Beach Grass Threnody
Lo in the wind the beach grass sings
A medley of fantastic things
That stirs the silence of the ear
With elfin notes we scarce may hear,
From formless shapes grotesque and strange
That lurk beyond the vision’s range.
The fingers of what moon beam sprite,
Or lonely demon of the night,
Have strummed those sweetly plaintive strings
To the weird melody that wrings
A note of haunting mystery
From the chill vastness of the sea.