Songs of the Sea Children

by Bliss Carman


 

LXXXIII


 

A woman sat by the hearth, 
And a man looked out at the door.

"O lover, I hear a sound 
As of approaching storm, 
When the sea makes in from the north

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With thunder and chafing and might, 
And trundles the quaking ground."

"It is not the sea you hear. 
The ice in the river is loosed; 
You hear its grinding mills

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Wearing the winter away, 
And the grist of grief and cold

Shall soon be the meal of joy. 
O heart of me, April is here!"

"O lover, I hear a sigh

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As of the boding wind 
In the murmurous black pines, 
Or a stir as of beating wings 
When the fleeing curlews fly."

"It is not the wind's great hum;

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The bees in the willow blooms, 
All golden-dusted now, 
Sing in their chantry loft 
As when earth the immortal was young, 
Busy with ardour and joy.
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O heart of mine, April is come!"

"O lover, my heart aches sore; 
My hands would fondle your hair, 
My cheek be laid to your cheek;
A strange new wild great word

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Knocks at my heart's closed door."

"Who is not a learner now? 
We endure, and seasons change, 
And the heart grows great and strange 
With the beauty of earth and time.

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Our lives unfold and get free, 
As the streams and the creatures do, 
To range through the April now."

Like a gold spring-flower in his arms,
She stood by the open door.

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