~A Sea Spell~
Her lute hangs shadowed in the apple tree,
While flashing fingers weave the sweet-strung spell
Between its chords; and as the wild notes swell,
The sea-bird for those branches leaves the sea.
But to what sound her listening ear stoops she?
What netherworld gulf-whispers hoes she hear,
In answering echoes from what planisphere,
Along the wind, along the estuary?
