Henry Head, No Longer, When the Cold and Sterile Moon… (1919)
“ With rhythmic tides she swept the fore-shoreland,Whereon I often set my heart’s desire,Leaving a barren strip of watery sand,A mirror for the moon’s chaste silver fire.For I have built a barrier ‘gainst the sea:No more the moon-swept tide my fruit devours;The seed is set, and in security,I watch the silent passage of life’s hours. ”
