The lucid lights upon the beach
by lorelit lines ablaze,
which frozen fingers cannot reach;
nor lines upon its face,
how many times I've tried to grasp
yet met but by a fevered gasp
I am the telltale ghost
undead, and fled, by most..
through beaches wrought in stone
I pass, and pass alone.

Through echoed aeons haunting
the midnight of the moor,
the fleeing fog is flaunting
a beaming bay before,
before this beamless shore
which wraiths of pyres rode
I am but man, alone,
yet seeking his abode
by strangers wrought in stone.