It is too far, too far!
My eyes are dazed
With searching emptiness,—
The dark, the blurred horizon
With its dust of other feet.
It is too late, too late!
Gray thoughts stalk round me
With their death.
I strike my tent,
I go.
Not even dreams can bring you now,—
Too long, too far, too late!
THE TIDE
I shall find you when the tide comes in,—
A shell, a sound, a flash of light
To live with me by day,
To dream with me by night.
You come and go
As waters flow;
You lap me round
You pour me full;
A shell at rest
You touch my breast.
I feel your will,
And I am bound
By light, by sound;
To love you still.
I shall find you when the tide comes in,—
A shell, a sound, a flash of light.
Men say you died.
They knew not what to say,—
I hear the tide,
I hear the tide!
DUST AND DREAMS
At peace with every sweet remembered thing
You lie; with woodland song that died long years
Ago; with pebbles washed ashore and fears
Released and feathers broken from the wing
That beat its westward flight towards the sun
And some far nest beside some unknown sea:
I would not answer when you called to me,
And now my thought of you is never done.