Back to the green deeps of the outer bay br The red and amber currents glide and cringe, br Diminishing behind a luminous fringe br Of cream-white surf and wandering wraiths of spray. br Stealthily, in the old reluctant way, br The red flats are uncovered, mile on mile, br To glitter in the sun a golden while. br Far down the flats, a phantom sharply grey, br The herring weir emerges, quick with spoil. br Slowly the tide forsakes it. Then draws near, br Descending from the farm-house on the height, br A cart, with gaping tubs. The oxen toil br Sombrely o'er the level to the weir, br And drag a long black trail across the light.