And draw the wine of day

From the must of midnight,

Or plant a star-seed in the gray-ploughed eve—

So out of the abyss of the blackness of night

Dawn's million-colored fountain might spring.

[46]

[46]

39

WANDERER

The silvery beach, a riband around the flowing hair of the sea,

Where gleam the foam-flowers garlanded in multitudinous nebulous rings:

Here, on the frontier of many worlds and the billow-rocked cradle of eternal sleep,

No sound, no music, no silence that a wounded soul can heal.

A longing more tempestuous than the craven breeze-possesséd deep,

And tears that outweigh the salt of the woeful brine,

Yet no sleep dream-robbed, or dream-laden, nor even death's pallid peace;

But a ceaseless crying over my heart's forsaken valleys

Where love like a wraith haunts the empty tombs of memory.

[47]

[47]

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