Eventide

Horizon’s edge drowns out the sun
As slow tide ebbs and flows,
And laps upon the shore so brown
As daylight westward goes.

The rushing sound of waters deep
Stirs up my soul in thought;
How swiftly Time escapes our reach
And soon, alas, is nought.

Oh! use it well, these years you have,
For long they only seem;
Yet swift away on evening wave
May drift away your dream.