though boats and sea-men flounder,

and the strait grind sand with sand

and cut boulders to sand and drift—

your eyes have pardoned our faults,

your hands have touched us—

you have leaned forward a little

and the waves can never thrust us back

from the splendour of your ragged coast.

[7]

[7]

MID-DAY

The light beats upon me.

I am startled—

a split leaf crackles on the paved floor—

I am anguished—defeated.

A slight wind shakes the seed-pods—

my thoughts are spent

as the black seeds.

My thoughts tear me,

I dread their fever.

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