 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
137
The Golden Tides.
The moon lay low above the seaThe moon lay low above the sea, and all the flowing gold and flashing silver of the rippling running water seemed to be a flood going that way and falling into the shining hollow of the moon. O, that the tides of my heart, for ever flowing one way, might fall to rest in the hollow of a golden moon.
| From the Hills of Dream | |