return

Each time it tried to get into the sea,

The waves resisted entering and swept

Tumbling the turtle back

With weed in welter and wrack

Holding it as in fee;

And still it kept

Confronting the whole Atlantic, until home

It went in the swash and disappeared like foam.

finale

Daisies were growing where now crickets are sowing

The dusk, only just months ago—it seems like a week;

The eye of the day has closed, and the voices of night

Say how that season is gone—or so it seems that they speak

To me as I go through the fields once shining with bright

Daisies, as the stars increase in the dying of light.