Part 7 (1/2)

V

IN A DARK HOUR

You are not with me--only the moon, The sea and the gulls' cry, out of tune; The myriad cry of the gulls still strewn On the sands where the tide will enter soon.

You are not with me, only the breath Of the wind--and then the wind's death.

A shrouding silence then that saith, ”Even as wind love vanisheth.”

You are not with me--only fear, As old as earth's first frenzied bier That severed two whose hearts were near, And left one with all Life unclear.

VI

VIA AMOROSA

When we two walk, my love, on the path The moon makes over the sea, To the end of the world where sorrow hath An end that is ecstasy, Should we not think of the other road Of wearying dust and stone Our feet would fare did each but care To follow the way alone?

When we two slip at night to the skies And find one star that we keep As a trysting-place to which our eyes May lead our souls ere sleep, Should we not pause for a little s.p.a.ce And think how many must sigh Because they gaze over starry ways With no heart-comrade by?

When we two then lie down to our dreams That deepen still the delight Of our wandering where stars and streams Stray in immortal light, Should we not grieve with the myriads From East of earth to West Who lay them down at night but to drown A longing for some loved breast?

Ah, yes, for life has a thousand gifts, But love it is gives life.

Who walks thro his world in loneness lifts A soul that is sorrow-rife.

But they to whom it is given to tread The moon-path and not sink Can ever say the unhappiest way Earth has is fair, to the brink.

VII

TRANSFUSION

A shoal-light flashes east, And livid lightning west, The silvery dark night-sea between, On which we ride at rest, And gaze far, far away Into the fretless skies, World-sadness in our thought--but ah, Content within our eyes.

The s.h.i.+p's bell strikes--the sound Floats shrouded to our ears, Then suddenly, as at a touch, The universe appears A Presence Infinite That penetrates our love And makes us one with night and sea And all the stars above.

NEED OF STORM

(_Naples-on-the-Gulf_)

On the green floor of the Gulf the wind is walking, Printing it with invisible feet; The tide is talking.

Purple and grey the horizon walls them round With purpler clouds.

They wander in it like guests gently astray In a house deep mystery shrouds.

I do not know the speech of the tide, For too articulate have become my years: Beauty brings only words, not breathless tears.

So the young heron fis.h.i.+ng there in the foam On the sand's edge, Would once have taken my spirit far, far home To the infinite, when he vanished thro the gloam.