The Comrades | ||
164
On the Shore
Not lonely though alone, she played
Between the sea and land;
With shells and meadow-flowers she made
A garden in the sand.
Between the sea and land;
With shells and meadow-flowers she made
A garden in the sand.
In silvery visions from the sea
The summer clouds were blown;
Sweet voices came from field and tree,
Soft sounds from wave and stone.
The summer clouds were blown;
Sweet voices came from field and tree,
Soft sounds from wave and stone.
She heeded not; she lived apart;
Absorbed in joy she played.
Between two worlds her little heart
A little world had made.
Absorbed in joy she played.
Between two worlds her little heart
A little world had made.
165
Ah! we too on the shore, dear child,
Are dreamers all, like thee!
By figments of the heart beguiled,
We cannot hear or see.
Are dreamers all, like thee!
By figments of the heart beguiled,
We cannot hear or see.
Soft voices call from sea and land,
But neither world is ours;
Our lives are spent on barren sand
And plots of rootless flowers.
But neither world is ours;
Our lives are spent on barren sand
And plots of rootless flowers.
The Comrades | ||