Ghost-bereft With other stories and studies in verse: By Jane Barlow |
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To M. L. B.
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 | Ghost-bereft |  |
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To M. L. B.
A solace fond and sought in Fate's despite,
If I must never please you any more,
You that toward joy, be it e'er so dim, of yore
Turned sweet and fain as turn your flowers toward light:
Nay, since thus late my poor small gift I write
Yours, 'tis in truth as who should wave you o'er
Surge of wild seas from shadow-blinded shore,
Or cry your name through echo-less wastes of night.
If I must never please you any more,
You that toward joy, be it e'er so dim, of yore
Turned sweet and fain as turn your flowers toward light:
Nay, since thus late my poor small gift I write
Yours, 'tis in truth as who should wave you o'er
Surge of wild seas from shadow-blinded shore,
Or cry your name through echo-less wastes of night.
Yet as one cast away on loneliest strand,
Past hail of hope, still signs with voice and hand,
Lest doom in utter dread on his heart should fall,
Hearkening that hush: even so far off I seem
To cry to you, mavrone, and beckon; and dream
You see the hand, and dream you hear the call.
Past hail of hope, still signs with voice and hand,
Lest doom in utter dread on his heart should fall,
Hearkening that hush: even so far off I seem
To cry to you, mavrone, and beckon; and dream
You see the hand, and dream you hear the call.
| Ghost-bereft | |