Sounds of the seas grow fainter,
   Sounds of the sands have sped; 
The sweep of gales,
The far white sails, 
   Are silent, spent and dead. 

Sounds of the days of summer
   Murmur and die away, 
And distance hides
The long, low tides, 
  As night shuts out the day. 

Sunshine and shadow play amid the trees

In bosky groves, while from the vivid sky

The sun’s gold arrows fleck the fields at noon,

      Where weary cattle to their slumber hie.

How sweet the music of the purling rill,

Trickling adown the grassy hill!

While dreamy fancies come to give repose

When the first star of evening glows.

^{i.m. Sam Fox, 1941–2020}

In a charmed summer garden
among the fruit trees where
we walked along the wall
we barely noticed it.

At one point when you leaned
against it, it gave way.
There was a sudden breeze.
You were no longer there.

Bird cries did not abate
and the stream went on flowing.
Small creatures scurried. How can
a man evaporate?

Time turns a corner and
the world is as it was
yesterday afternoon
but for that sleight-of-hand.

I’m wise and damaged now.
Give me some time to rest.
All the bright illusions
I loved are giving way.