David MacDonald Ross

(1865 / Australia)

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The Silent Tide

I heard Old Ocean raise her voice and cry,
   In that still hour between the night and day;
   I saw the answering tides, green robed and gray,
Turn to her with a low contented sigh;
Marching with silent feet they passed me by,
   For the white moon had taught them to obey,
   And scarce a wavelet broke in fretful spray,
As they went forth to kiss the stooping sky.

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