When the Hurly-Burly’s Done

Set for Macbeth:

Mist on the cliff:
These two alone,
Stone, and the mist
Destroying the stone.

Ageless, forgotten
For time to come;
Primal water
And shapes therefrom.

Shadows lurching
Into the mist,
Merging in dream
And the sea's list;

And the low surge,
Muffled and lonely—
These and the cliff:
Mist only. 

Frances Jennings.