The Gulls

The gulls are gone,
The summer is shy;
But I know their cry,

Dark and blue are the skies
Where they flew,
They flew and they flew,
With me far away!

Only the stinging wind
And the marsh weeds sway,
And the flame of the evening

Is a spark that I see,
Soars into the air,
And back to me.

—Lola Ridge

• Lola Ridge