A Winter Dirge

The heath has withered on the moor,
Here at the wan sea's edge
I hear the thundering breakers roar;
Against: the tortured hedge
I lean and hear the wind that wails
As if a child had cried.
Far off I see the shifting sails
That strive with wind and tide.
And, stranger than all human speech
Or any woman's sigh,
I hear the waves beat on the beach
And the sea-gull's cry.