The Book of the Native

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

The Lone Wharf


 

    The long tides sweep
    Around its sleep,
The long red tides of Tantramar.
    Around its dream
    They hiss and stream,
5
Sad for the ships that have sailed afar.

How many lips
    Have lost their bloom,
How many ships
    Gone down to gloom,

10
Since keel and sail
    Have fled out from me
Over the thunder and strain of the sea!

    Its kale-dark sides
    Throb in the tides;

15
The long winds over it spin and hum;
    Its timbers ache
    For memory’s sake,
And the throngs that never again will come.

How many lips

20
    Have lost their bloom,
How many ships
    Gone down to gloom,
Since keel and sail
    Have fled out from me
25
Over the thunder and strain of the sea!