Part 8 (2/2)

Let me but feel the pulse of Nature's soul Athrob on mine, let seas and thunders roll O'er night and me; sands whirl; winds, waters beat; For G.o.d's grey earth has no cheap counterfeit.

RE-VOYAGE

What of the days when we two dreamed together?

Days marvellously fair, As lightsome as a skyward floating feather Sailing on summer air-- Summer, summer, that came drifting through Fate's hand to me, to you.

What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder If you too wish this sky Could be the blue we sailed so softly under, In that sun-kissed July; Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon, With hearts in touch and tune.

Have you no longing to re-live the dreaming, Adrift in my canoe?

To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming Cleaving the waters through?

To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until Your restless pulse grows still?

Do you not long to listen to the purling Of foam athwart the keel?

To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling Among their stones, to feel The boat's unsteady tremor as it braves The wild and snarling waves?

What need of question, what of your replying?

Oh! well I know that you Would toss the world away to be but lying Again in my canoe, In listless indolence entranced and lost, Wave-rocked, and pa.s.sion tossed.

Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering Across love's sh.o.r.eless seas; All reckless, I had ne'er a thought of fearing Such dreary days as these, When through the self-same rapids we dash by, My lone canoe and I.

BRIER

GOOD FRIDAY

Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm Bends back the brier that edges life's long way, That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm, I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.

Because I never knew your care to tire, Your hand to weary guiding me aright, Because you walk before and crush the brier, It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.

Because so often you have hearkened to My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now, That these harsh hands of mine add not unto The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.

WAVE-WON

To-night I hunger so, Beloved one, to know If you recall and crave again the dream That haunted our canoe, And wove its witchcraft through Our hearts as 'neath the northern night we sailed the northern stream.

Ah! dear, if only we As yesternight could be Afloat within that light and lonely sh.e.l.l, To drift in silence till Heart-hushed, and lulled and still The moonlight through the melting air flung forth its fatal spell.

The dusky summer night, The path of gold and white The moon had cast across the river's breast, The sh.o.r.es in shadows clad, The far-away, half-sad Sweet singing of the whip-poor-will, all soothed our souls to rest.

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