38. On Sailing from Douglas at Sunset

 

Crimson banners unfurl in the dusky fires

Beyond etched tree-lined and gold-tipped spires;

A blaze as a brand is the headland crest,

And smoky the hills that lie to the west,

Dark green swell the waves in the prow’s parth

But shot through with light the spray and froth,

Dims my small world as the sun sinks to rest,

Veiling desires.

Fades the long coast to a blurred memory

As I turn my back

To the homeward track

And gaze on the alien sea.