finding themselves completely encompassed, every one fled
Dropping from the starry heavens through the soft Australian nights -
Dropping on those lone grave-grasses - come serene, unbroken, clear,
Like the love of God the Father, falling, falling, year by year!
Yea, and like a Voice supernal, there the daily wind doth blow
In the leaves above the Sailor buried ninety years ago.
A HEAP of low dark rocky coast,
A sea-voice moaning like a ghost;
The flying Syrinx turned and sped