POETRY..
IS IT LOVE?
Is it love, is it hate, this clasp by the sea of the land, • Entangling, swaying, revolving, escaping on to the strand, Escaping, yet never escaped, never utterly gone from reach, Which is it? I fain would know, as I watch at hand, Here on the beach. • To-night they seem weary of warfare, these ancient foes, Weary of love as of bate, of eddying kisses or blows, Even as we, as I, grow weary of eddying thought, Of the waves of the mind, of the soul, and its bubble. like woes, . - Rising unsought. The sea's mood to-night has changed, has grown simple and mild, It draws in the land to its breast as a nurse draws a child, It sings it a song wrought out of the moan of the beach, Of the sough of the wind, of the tales of the waste and the wild, Older and stranger than speech. E. L.
Previous page
