LATER POEMS
Less free than love is,—tentative
And groping, lest they touch and stir,
On memories' mystic barrier,
An unforgotten pain? Are we
Then fettered, we who feel so free?
We sift the sand. From where we sit
The line of shore seems infinite.
But waves into their tidal fold
Obedient fall. Unto what mould
Of wonted pain must you comply?
O tell me, are you bound as I
With links of your own failure? Tell
Me, do the crowded years compel
And hinder you? What tyranny
Distorted life, like an oak tree
The wind has twisted? Long ago
Youth was rebellious. Now we know
Our thought is tethered like a wave,
And strong compelling tides enslave
Our spirits. No, we are not free.
And still we almost seem to be—
For since we newly love, our words
Take wing, float seaward like the birds.
And groping, lest they touch and stir,
On memories' mystic barrier,
An unforgotten pain? Are we
Then fettered, we who feel so free?
We sift the sand. From where we sit
The line of shore seems infinite.
But waves into their tidal fold
Obedient fall. Unto what mould
Of wonted pain must you comply?
O tell me, are you bound as I
With links of your own failure? Tell
Me, do the crowded years compel
And hinder you? What tyranny
Distorted life, like an oak tree
The wind has twisted? Long ago
Youth was rebellious. Now we know
Our thought is tethered like a wave,
And strong compelling tides enslave
Our spirits. No, we are not free.
And still we almost seem to be—
For since we newly love, our words
Take wing, float seaward like the birds.
[12]
