Pale gleams the lighthouse light;
No warring waves break the peace of sleep tonight
Nor a hungry wind shrieks in pain from the lea.
Under her heavy veil of black
A languid sea sluggishly flows
To some far land of forsaken dreams.
4
"O, OLD! O, NEW!"[1]
Who are you?
Why make me wait
From the hour of dew
Till another sunset?
Why do I look
For your coming?
Listen to the weeping brook
That might bring
To my lonely shore
A word from you.
Ah, nothing! not a leaf's tremor!
O, old! O, longed for new!
Who are you? I ask;
Know not why I seek
From day to dusk
Without waking or sleep,—
No sleep! no waking!
A dreaming, a longing;
Not knowing, yet seeking,
For your coming waiting—
O, spring-born!
O, autumn-clad!
O, soul's new morn!
O, old! O, glad!
So glad, so young!
O, unseen, unknown,
O, fugitive vision!
O, eternal moan
In my heart—
O, tearful Soul of laughter,
Untouched, unhurt,
O, sweet! O, bitter!
My born yet unborn,
Shadow not fallen
O, undawning morn—
O, message unbroken.
Why, how, when?
I wait, wait for you,
O embrace of earth and heaven;
O, Old! O, New!
[1] "O, Old! O, New!" is the cry of a "Poáti," e. g., a mother's cry to her unborn child. "Poáti" has no precise English synonym.