III.
The sea on the beach
Flung the foam of its ire.
We watched without speech
The sea on the beach,
And we clung each to each
As the tempest shrilled higher
And the sea on the beach
Flung the foam of its ire.
IV.
When Love is once dead
Who shall awake him?
Bitter our bread
When Love is once dead
His comforts are fled,
His favours forsake him.
When Love is once dead
Who shall awake him?
V.
Love is a swallow
Flitting with spring:
Though we would follow,
Love is a swallow,
All his vows hollow:
Than let us sing,
Love is a swallow
Flitting with spring.
Arthur Symons.
A poor cicala, piping shrill,
I may not ape the Nightingale,
I sit upon the sun-browned hill,
A poor cicala, piping shrill
When summer noon is warm and still,
Content to chirp my homely tale;
A poor cicala piping shrill,
I may not ape the Nightingale.
Graham R. Tomson.