 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
50
The Tide of Love
New Year, 1904.
As when the flood-tide comes to full, and stands
A moment weary of its long unrest,
And all the heavens are mirrored and the west
Burns gold where late lay unillumined sands,
So now the year at full, in her old hands
Lifts up a mirror and we see the best—
Peace at our gates—old friendships repossest
And hope of good for Moslem-blighted lands.
A moment weary of its long unrest,
And all the heavens are mirrored and the west
Burns gold where late lay unillumined sands,
So now the year at full, in her old hands
Lifts up a mirror and we see the best—
Peace at our gates—old friendships repossest
And hope of good for Moslem-blighted lands.
But the tide turns, and all the light is lost,
The New Year sobs beyond the barren bar,
Sobs like a child that knows not of the way.
And hark! with trampling of a Russian host
The Far East shakes, the dark air breathes of war!
Flow, Tide of Love! and let the world's peace stay!
The New Year sobs beyond the barren bar,
Sobs like a child that knows not of the way.
And hark! with trampling of a Russian host
The Far East shakes, the dark air breathes of war!
Flow, Tide of Love! and let the world's peace stay!
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |