Low along the sea, low along the sea,
The grey gulls are flying, and one sail swings;
The tide is foaming in; the soft wind sighing;
The brown kelp stretches, to the surf, harp-strings.

Low along the sea, low along the sea,
The grey gulls are flying, and one sail fades;
The tide is foaming out; the soft winds dying;
And white stars are peeping from the night's pale shades.