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 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
285
SONGS AT SEA.
I have been lonely the whole day long;
Come and find me to-night with a song;
Sing to me now, when the wind is low,
And my heart shall answer as on we go;
Listen and answer, and none shall know.
Come and find me to-night with a song;
Sing to me now, when the wind is low,
And my heart shall answer as on we go;
Listen and answer, and none shall know.
Over the brooding, wonderful sea
The song that is sung alone for me
Floats, and none other its strain can hear,
Or catch the music, subtle and dear,
Of the delicate singing that seeks my ear.
The song that is sung alone for me
Floats, and none other its strain can hear,
Or catch the music, subtle and dear,
Of the delicate singing that seeks my ear.
The West is red with the sunset's glow;
In the East the moon is hanging low;
And fast and far the light winds flee,
As I sail, with your songs for company,
'Twixt the silent sky and the silent sea.
In the East the moon is hanging low;
And fast and far the light winds flee,
As I sail, with your songs for company,
'Twixt the silent sky and the silent sea.
Do these birds of song need a sheltering nest?
See! I will hide them warm in my breast;
There shall they fold their venturous wing,
And all the night through nestle and sing
Songs of love and of sorrowing.
See! I will hide them warm in my breast;
There shall they fold their venturous wing,
And all the night through nestle and sing
Songs of love and of sorrowing.
286
Then, when the morning is young and gay,
Up from their shelter and far away!
And, like carrier doves, they shall bear as they flee
The echoes of all they have sung to me
Alone with the night and the wind and the sea;—
Up from their shelter and far away!
And, like carrier doves, they shall bear as they flee
The echoes of all they have sung to me
Alone with the night and the wind and the sea;—
The echoes of passion's divine despair,
The bliss and the bane of a lover's prayer,
All the delicate singing that none might hear;
And the answer my heart shall send, my dear,
On the breath of the morning fine and clear.
The bliss and the bane of a lover's prayer,
All the delicate singing that none might hear;
And the answer my heart shall send, my dear,
On the breath of the morning fine and clear.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |