A Sunset At Les Eboulements

Broad shadows fall. On all the mountain side The scythe-swept fields are silent. Slowly home By the long beach the high-piled hay-carts come, Splashing the pale salt shallows. Over wide Fawn-coloured wastes of mud the slipping tide, Round the dun rocks and wattled fisheries, Creeps murmuring in. And now by twos and threes, O'er the slow spreading pools with clamorous chide, Belated crows from strip to strip take flight. Soon will the first star shine; yet ere the night Reach onward to the pale-green distances, The sun's last shaft beyond the gray sea-floor Still dreams upon the Kamouraska shore, And the long line of golden villages.