Unrest.

There is a red mouth by the sea,
Unending fount of melody;
I hear it, plaintive in the wind,
This winged mouth I cannot find.
From spray it echoes hushedly,
A warning dirge, disturbing me;
And then it pipes that sea can bring,
An undiscovered comforting;
From out the samphire covered sand,
In words I cannot understand,
It hymns a murm'ring, low lament
That surges me with discontent.
Oh, Voice, no more through rain-mist sigh,
Haunt me no longer with your cry!
But hark! Through caves you peal like bells—
And leave sweet melody in shells!

—Phyllis I. Young.

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