The sand martins were flying,
Flying around and crying;
Till late in the grey light
I watched their twisted flight;
Then with the last light gone
They housed in holes that riddled the sandstone.

I rose and passing by
One thin contented cry,
Chirp of sleep-settling bird,
I heard, and no more heard
Save the late gulls that cried
Down by the wave-lit darkness of ebb-tide.