Orion, and Other Poems

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

MIRIAM.—II

CHORIAMBICS


 

AH, Love, what would I give just for a little light!
    Cryings born of the wind wake on its undertones.
Vainly praying the shore wearily all the night
       Round me the ocean moans.

Ebb-tides laden with woe flee with a wailful song                             
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    Far down out of the dark, calling my trembling soul.
Ah, Love, where is the light? Why is the way so long?…
       Hearken how sad their roll!

Ay, sad surely, but sweet! Why do they always call,—
    All night through the thick dark calling me out to thee?                
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Lured by surf-whispers soft, feebly my footsteps fall
       Toward the enfolding sea.

Nay! I cover my ears; ’tis not the way to thee.
    Why doth it play me false now that my paths are blind?
When they lay in the light born of thy love to me,                            
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       Never it seemed unkind.

Sweet it sang in the light, scarce could it dream a dirge;
    Fringed with ripples of blue tinkled the strand like bells;
When, thy hand in my hand, crushed we along its verge
       Pebbles and pink-lipp’d shells.                                               
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Ah! but full were the hours, full to the heart’s desire;
    Flowing over with love, golden their flying feet.
Deep and sweet was the air, shining and clear like fire,
       Vital with balmy heat.

Warm,—but now it is cold; bright,—it is wild and dark; 
    Dimly over the sea lieth the gleamless pall;                                  
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Dimly out of the sea murmur the voices. Hark!
       Do not they sweetly call?

Stay me, Miriam, Love; chill is the drifting foam.
    Come, Love, meet me with strength; fierce is the moaning sea.
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Peace! peace! vainly I call; thou wilt not quit thy home;
       Wait; I will come to thee.