Outside of the port ye are moored in, lying
Close from the wind and at ease from the tide,
What sounds come swelling, what notes fall dying
Outside?
They will not cease, they will not abide:
Voices of presage in darkness crying
Pass and return and relapse aside.
Ye see not, but hear ye not wild wings flying
To the future that wakes from the past that died?
Is grief still sleeping, is joy not sighing
Outside?
THE WAY OF THE WIND.
The wind’s way in the deep sky’s hollow
None may measure, as none can say
How the heart in her shows the swallow
The wind’s way.
Hope nor fear can avail to stay
Waves that whiten on wrecks that wallow,
Times and seasons that wane and slay.
Life and love, till the strong night swallow
Thought and hope and the red last ray,
Swim the waters of years that follow
The wind’s way.
‘HAD I WIST.’
Had I wist, when life was like a warm wind playing
Light and loud through sundawn and the dew’s bright trust,
How the time should come for hearts to sigh in saying
‘Had I wist’—
Surely not the roses, laughing as they kissed,
Not the lovelier laugh of seas in sunshine swaying,
Should have lured my soul to look thereon and list.