This chamber of our bliss
Might seem a fortress by a haunted main,
Which shouting hosts embattled charge in vain,
Powerless to mar our kiss.
O life, O storm of years,
Our walls are built against your shattering siege;
Our dwelling is with Love, our sovereign liege,
And fenced from change and tears.
SEVERANCE
The tide falls, and the night falls,
And the wind blows in from the sea,
And the bell on the bar it calls and calls,
And the wild hawk cries from his tree.
The late crane calls to his fellows gone
In long flight over the sea,
And my heart with the crane flies on and on,
Seeking its rest and thee
O Love, the tide returns to the strand,
And the crane flies back oversea,
But he brings not my heart from his far-off land,
For he brings not thee to me.
EPITAPH FOR A SAILOR BURIED ASHORE
He who but yesterday would roam
Careless as clouds and currents range,
In homeless wandering most at home,
Inhabiter of change;
Who wooed the west to win the east,
And named the stars of North and South,
And felt the zest of Freedom’s feast
Familiar in his mouth;
Who found a faith in stranger-speech,
And fellowship in foreign hands,
And had within his eager reach
The relish of all lands—