Strong wings in the stormy weather—

Gray stitches that hold

The raveling fabrics of sea and sky

Forever together!

As if engraved upon the dawn,

The sleek gulls stand

Along the rim of an exhausted sea

That rumbles up the sand.

Amazing birds, untired and trim of wing,

Whose round unflinching eyes

Meet like a challenge the leaden-lidded sun

About to rise.

Here is no bud, no blade,

No young green thing;

This stark earth knows a meager spring.

Gulls are the only birds,

And thin their cries,

Bleak winter in their frosty eyes.

Somewhere, are fields and boughs,

A hill, a brook;

I would not lift my head to look

From this wind-shapen dune,

This stern still place,

This sea that stares me in the face,

This unimpeded sun!—

And for my hand,

The fine unfecund yellow sand!