Her ghost came in with the tide
And the trails of her wedding shawl
Were weeds and a wet white winding sheet
Of a bride more fair than them all.
The great grey wave scored the heavens
And pulled down a star in its curl;
The lords of the land ought tremble
When the sea gives up its pearl.
The water wed many such wives;
Great queens who when sunken, bore wings;
Judgment lies in the bright silver knives
Of their eyes fixed accusing at kings.
The highest of hands drowned the mighty
When Man sought out what was banned;
But the lords of the land ought tremble
When she walks on the quicksilver strand.

