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76
The Bird and the Beacon
Poor bird that battlest with the storm
To gain the beacon-light,
Then fall'st a wounded woeful form
Into the gulfs of night!
A thousand lips that light may bless:
To thee 'tis the last bitterness.
To gain the beacon-light,
Then fall'st a wounded woeful form
Into the gulfs of night!
A thousand lips that light may bless:
To thee 'tis the last bitterness.
A light was given to the earth,
Wearing a woman's name;
A thousand tongues have told her worth,
And deathless is her fame.
But I was the spent bird, that there
Salvation sought, and found despair.
Wearing a woman's name;
A thousand tongues have told her worth,
And deathless is her fame.
But I was the spent bird, that there
Salvation sought, and found despair.
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