Volume 1 — THE CHAPEL BY THE SHORE.

By the shore, a plot of ground Clips a ruined chapel round, Buttressed with a grassy mound; Where Day, and Night, and Day go by And bring no touch of human sound. Washing of the lonely seas— Shaking of the guardian trees— Piping of the salted breeze— Day, and Night, and Day go by, To the endless tune of these. Or when, as winds and waters keep A hush more dead than any sleep, Still morns to stiller evenings creep, And Day, and Night, and Day go by Here the stillness is most deep. And the ruins, lapsed again Into Nature's wide domain, Sow themselves with seed and grain, As Day, and Night, and Day go by, And hoard June's sun and April's rain. Here fresh funeral tears were shed; And now the graves are also dead: And suckers from the ash-tree spread, As Day, and Night, and Day go by And stars move calmly overhead.