A level sea,
A film of blue
Covering the coast-line;
A sail or two; A ship asleep
On the offing's breast,
A blood-red ball
Low down in the west; A poplar perched
High on the hill,
Black 'gainst the crimson,
Stark and still. Now fades the great ball, --
It was the sun, --
And sky and ocean
Melt into one. Now the mists, like a tide,
Slowly lift and lift,
Till all the landscape
Is set adrift.