"Who can strive always? easier to lie down
And let the bitter waves wash o'er me quite."
So spoke my heart this eve; a brave face shown
Before the world is well enough; a light
Laugh, and an answer prompt to hide, well too —
But with the laugh and jest my sorrow grew,
II.
It grew till forth it drove me to the heights
Far from the town, above the waters wide.
No day of sunshine this; no sudden lights
Striking the gray and scarcely heaving tide;
No sound, but where the slow waves touch the land,
And, breaking, leave a foam-fleck on the sand.
III.
All seems in harmony — sea, land, and sky —
With the sad peace of one, who, yielding all,
No longer fights or strives; I too would try
To be at peace, shake off this painful thrall,
Cut out this pricking sorrow' from my heart,
Lay bare and probe my long-concealed smart.
IV.
Not with the future lies my grief, I said;
(Was it a foolish fancy?) for in spring,
When all the air is warm, and overhead
High in the scented pines the finches sing,
And I can hear the children's voices call
Their happy mothers, and the sea through all.
V.
Then I can dream, as happy as a child,
And days to come are bright with hope serene,
No vision seems too lofty or too wild,
I am a saint, a poet, or a queen!
But (oh, my love, forgive me!) from the past,
O’er my life's sunshine, is this shadow cast.
VI.
It is the past I cannot, dare not meet.
Sealed up it is; thrust out of sight, below
The surface of my days; yet, bitterswreet,
The mingled past can rise and sting me through.
Will it be ne'er forgotten? never sleep?
Although I laugh, and jest, and will not weep?
VII.
So I come out upon this cliff to-day
To dare remember! Thinking that maybe
If once I face my dread, nor turn away
Although pain wring my heart, yet I may see
The spectre of those past two happy years
Turn to a minist'ring angel thro' my tears.
VIII.
I lie upon this dead and stunted heath
Close to the cliff's edge, that my eye may sweep
From distant coastlines to the sand beneath,
Where in his boat a fisher boy's asleep —
And gazing wide-eyed at the sea, at last,
Dare with a trembling courage face the past.
IX.
A day in summer first, and golden haze
Upon sub-tropic seas! The little isles,
Whose wooded peaks are purple in the blaze,
And glittering sands where one may pace for miles,
I conjure up; and, by the river broad,
Just where it meets the sea — a little toward
X.
That clump of flowering grass — (O love, you too,
Do you remember it?) we stand abreast,
Watching old Watu as the net he threw
Across the river's mouth; we, silent, lest
We scare the herrings e'er the tide has run —
What need of speech between, when souls are one?
XI.
Another day, crown of all time, comes back,
When side by side we wander through the bush,
Where never feet but ours have worn a track.
There is your love outspoken in the hush;
Your ring, twined round my finger, set with a kiss —
A tendril from the white-starr'd clematis.
XII.
A short month later comes an autumn day,
When the air's keen and clear, and the far hills
Are capped with gleams of snow. We ride away,
Up hill and down! A deep content now fills
Our hearts, and smooths the trouble from your brow;
Wedded and one, what could divide us now?
XIII.
Oh foolish boast! Oh impotence of love!
Too soon the happy days, the happy years,
Are gone. All earthly gain and loss but prove
Your steadfastness; the petty hopes and fears
Of daily cares, these cannot souls divide;
We smile and say: "We'll conquer side by side."
XIV.
Comes a spring morning, gay with song and shine,
When Death between us steals, and takes your hand,
And you are mine no longer; for not mine
Those unresponsive lips and eyes; I stand
Among the rustling clover and the grass
Where they have laid you; mute, I homeward pass,
XV.
Ever and ever asking: "Where is he?"
Not mine these ashes, or this dust; but mine,
Mine, the young lover pleading passionately!
The steadfast friend proved by long years; the fine
Pure spirit, that these last days shone
Through the worn, wasted flesh — where is he gone?
. . . . . . . . XVI.
Is it an hour only since I went
Out on the lonely cliff, to sit apart
And view those years again, with a will bent
To face the past? Hast thou found peace, my heart?
At least I’ve wept till I can weep no more,
And I shall sleep to-night. …
