The sunset's roses faint and fain decline.
⁠Inshore the still sea shimmers scale on scale,
⁠Like an enormous coat of magic mail —
Sheet silver shot with tremulous opaline.

Rare boats traverse it, glidingly supine.
⁠The Inchkeith light by moments flashes pale.
⁠The distance darkles, and a far grey sail
Melts vague into the solemn evenshine.

The thickening dusk is quick with pattering feet
⁠And swishing dresses, and the airs of June
With broad sea-scents and blown cigars are sweet;

And over yonder, where the ripples beat,
⁠Sweethearts are wandering, while the yellowing moon
Sails the blue lift, and wide stars glance and greet.