The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston

Hear'st thou upon the shore line of thy life
The beating of this song-tide led by thee,
As by the winds and moon is led the sea?
The clashing waves conflicting meet in strife,
Bitter with tears of hopeless love they roll,
And fall, and thunder, between soul and soul.
Strange things are borne upon their foaming heights,
Through wild, gray, windy days and shrieking nights;
O'er rocks and hidden shoals, round beacon lights,
Their foam is blown, till on thy shores at length
They burst, in all the trouble of their strength.

Sad things, O love! upon thy shore they cast,—
Waifs from the wreck of that fair dream of joy
With which the winds of Fortune love to toy,
Whereto the waves seem kind; until at last
The tempest burst upon it in its might—
Though through the utter darkness of the night
The happy haven lights shone calm and clear,
Of that loved land so far and yet so near.
No voice was left to call, no hand to steer;
It fell before the tempest blind and strong,
To float a wreck upon this tide of song,—

This bitter tide, by winds of passion moved;
This stormy tide, that wraps and bears its dead;
This tide, from all strong springs of sorrow fed,
Flowing between my soul and thine, beloved;
This tide, that knows no moon by night, by day
No burning sun to flame upon its way;

This passionate, strong tide, whose waste waves roll,
And call from one soul to another soul;
This tide that knows the tempest and the shoal,
The utter darkness, and at best such light
As comes between the day-fall and the night.

Dead hopes, spoiled dreams, sad memories that ache,
Desires whose hopes were vain; poor, sterile prayers,—
Such things as these to thee this tide upbears.
Hear where the song-waves roar, and where they break,
Let the sharp sound of woe assail thine ears,
Even as his who on some midnight hears
Upon a close and yet night-hidden strand
The roused sea calling to the silent land,
The strong sea stricken of the storm-wind's hand;
And as he listens, feels himself the pain
Of shipwrecked men, who battle with the main.

Hear it again, in some less stormy mood,
As one who, waking from a dreamless sleep,
Hears the complaining of a moonless deep,
And feels its vast and endless solitude,
With sense of wants untold, his heart oppress;
With terrible, strong yearnings to express
All life's untold, unmeasurable woe;
To look past unrevealing stars, and know
Whereto at length men's prayers and yearnings go.
Once, only once, with purged and holy eyes,
To see, and know, the promised Paradise.

O love! my land whereto I may not come,
Is not my spirit to thy spirit set?
Hear once, O love! then, if thou canst, forget,
For when death makes my lips and thy lips dumb,—
When thou hast done with pity, I with grief,
When no hope comes to comfort or deceive,

This tide shall flow unchanged upon its way,
And men who catch its beat will surely say,
“When comes such love to us, in this our day?
What must have been the soul that thus could move
One human spirit to such mighty love?”

Small music in its voice this song-tide has,—
Not strength enough, perchance, to stir one heart;
No sun, no moon, their light to it impart,
No happy stars above it shining pass;
The summer wots not of it; and no spring,
With winds that sigh, too full of peace to sing,
Can hope to ease it from the tempest's blast.
Between the future and the distant past
It roars and rolls; its waves fall thick and fast,
Whirled madly by wild winds, and only warm
With pulse and passion of the viewless storm.

University of Virginia Library

PRELUDE.