The End of the Age / Janet Lewis

The End of the Age


With wash and ripple and with wave, Slow moving lip the long deserted sand, The little moon went watching the white tide Flood in and over, spread above the land, Flood the low marshes, make a silver cover Where the green sea-weed in a floating mist Creeps under branch and over. The wide water spreads, the night goes up the sky, The era ends. Tomorrow comes warm blood with a new race, Warm hearts that ache for lovers and for friends, And the pitiful grace Of young defeated heads. Tomorrow comes the sun, color and flush And anguish. Now let the water wash Out of the evening sky the lingering reds, And spread its coolness higher than the heart Of every silver bush. Night circles round the sky. The era ends.