Fog wraiths

In from the ocean the whole fog creeps,

Blotting out ship and rock and tree,

While wrapped in its shroud, from the soundless deeps

Back to the land come the lost at sea.

Over the weeping grass they drift

By well-known paths to their homes again,

To finger the latch they may not lift

And peer through the glistering windowpane.

Then in the churchyard each seeks the stone

To its mem'ry raised among the rest,

And they watch by their empty graves alone

Till the fog rolls back to the ocean's breast.