Hazel Hall’s speaker hears ordinary daily sounds as waves beating endlessly against her. They repeat like a song, but no longer mean anything. There was a time when she could follow those sounds out through the window and shape them with her imagination, even bend them to her will. Now a “sick fancy” leaves her inert and still, too worn out to chase echoes. What takes over is not harsh but quiet: a silence that settles around her like the ease of long-desired sleep. It softens the vague reality outside and dulls the rhythms that once felt so urgent. The mood is one of weary detachment, not quite peaceful, as if the speaker is slowly receding from life’s noise while old sounds dry up like wind across a drying sea.
Echoes — Summary
Day-long I hear life's sounds beat like the sea ; Day-long, day-long They sweep their deep tide-rhythms over me, And as a song Reiterated, fall unmeaningly.
Where once I bent life's echoes to my will, Day after day Following wings of sound over the sill Far, far away. Now my sick fancy lies inert and still.
Silence that slowly wraps me with the ease Of dreamed-out sleep. Quenches the sound of vague realities Whose echoes keep Their rhythms like old winds in drying seas.