 | Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) |  |
257
SORROW
The wrack is lapping in the pools, the sea's lip feels the sand,
Upon the mussel-purple rocks the restless mews are wailing:
The sinuous serpents of the tide are darkly twisting to the land:
The west wind drinks the foam as east she comes a-sailing.
Upon the mussel-purple rocks the restless mews are wailing:
The sinuous serpents of the tide are darkly twisting to the land:
The west wind drinks the foam as east she comes a-sailing.
(A whisper of the secret tides upon another coast,
The windy headlands of the soul, the lone sands of the mind....
That whisper swells as of a congregating host,
And I am as one frozen or deaf or blind.)
The windy headlands of the soul, the lone sands of the mind....
That whisper swells as of a congregating host,
And I am as one frozen or deaf or blind.)
O Tide that fills the little pools along the sunset-strand,
That sets the mews a-wailing above the wailing sea,
Bring back, hold out, O flowing Tide, O with a saviour hand
Restore the long-ebbed hopes, some fragment give to me!
That sets the mews a-wailing above the wailing sea,
Bring back, hold out, O flowing Tide, O with a saviour hand
Restore the long-ebbed hopes, some fragment give to me!
258
(Along the dim and broken coasts the tired mind knows its own,
By day and night the silent tides are silent evermore:
Around the headlands of the soul the great deeps moan,
Or with dull thunders plunge from shore to shore.)
By day and night the silent tides are silent evermore:
Around the headlands of the soul the great deeps moan,
Or with dull thunders plunge from shore to shore.)
| Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) | |