Impressions

I.  LES SILHOUETTES.

Oscar Wilde

    He sea is flecked with bars of grey
    The dull dead wind is out of tune,
    And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.

    Etched clear upon the pallid sand
    The black boat lies: a sailor boy
    Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.

    And overhead the curlews cry,
    Where through the dusky upland grass
    The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.