What time the August days were dying,
And leadened clouds hung dense and low,
And drowsy Summer winds were sighing,
And seagulls, far away, were crying,
And merry throngs passed to and fro,
We two, Jessie and I, together
Thought not of time or place or weather;
But, strolling on the golden sand,
We lived in 'grand old ocean,' dreaming,
Mute, watching white-caps dancing, gleaming,
Far to sea—we two, hand in hand.