Across the shallows tawny shadows run
and one grey osprey circles in the sun
over the still, green sea.  The moment rests
hot on the sands and on the sunwhite dunes;
the moment is perfection, with the slow
draw of the waves, the gliding of the bird
lonely and silent in the empty air.

It will not last: the osprey will wing off
into the west, the tide will turn, the sky
pile up the clouds, the great grey shadows run
across the sands and shut away the sun.

Bay Head
April 1937