Oh, never a word he answered,
And never a word spake she!
They turned their faces each from each,
And looked upon the sea.
The hands that cannot clasp for life,
Must quickly severed be.
The love that is not large enough
To live eternally,
In true love's name, for fair love's fame,
Must die before its bloom;
For it, in all God's earth or heaven,
There is no garden-room.
Though all the wine of life be lost,
Try well the red grape's hue.
Holy the soul that cannot taste
The false love for the true.
And blessed aye the fainting heart
For such a thirst shall be—
Yet never a word they spoke, and looked
Upon the bitter sea.
AN APRIL GUST.
It shall be as it hath been.
All the world is glad and green—
Hush! Ah, hush! There cannot be
April now for you and me.
Put your finger on the lips
Of your soul; the wild rain drips;
The wind goes diving down the sea;
Tell the wind, but tell not me.
Yet if I had aught to tell,
High as heaven, or deep as hell,
Bent the fates awry or fit,
I would find a word for it.