own the noontide, one by one,
The pale, proud ships would roam;
Each sailor to his love went on;
Each wanderer to his home.

And, ceasing not, death's nearing knell
Tolled in a heart that dreamed no more.
Our lips shook, sad as lips in hell;
But, fearful of the rending shore,
To fill all time with sad farewell
We would have sailed for evermore!

For pleasantly a song she'd croon,
And feign the world a kindly place;
And tender was the haunting tune
To match her haunting grace;
And tenderly the witching moon
Toyed with her feeling face ...

Our love was like the scent of flowers
To her who watches by the bed
Of one that dies in the dark hours,
The one her youth had wed:
At dawn she scares her tears away,
And through the cloud-enamelled day
Jests bravely for their bread.

She shared with all the brighter part;
The witching sallies lightly flew;
Her thoughts seemed, spilt by subtle art,
Half tear-drops and half dew.
They loved her for her gracious heart,
And the glad winds blew.

The sunbeam of her fleeting life
Gladdened the unsuspecting days;
And all the dusky imps of strife
Paled in her wisdom's lambent rays.
Her laugh to _one_ was as a knife:
But she had pleasure's praise.

And I who loved that conquering smile,
And felt the tears in secret shed,
Who watched her life with kindly guile
Veiling its darlings dead,
Held in a choking hush the while
A heart that feigned--and bled ...

Onward with blind rebellious breast
I ranged, with love, with bale opprest,
Piteous, passionate, all unblest,
The dispossessed,--God-possest ...

More lonely grew the leaden wave
That broke against the leaning sky;
The melancholy winds 'gan rave
Among the whimpering shrouds on high:
Most lonely up the leaden wave
Two climbed toward yet a lonelier grave--
Where only one should lie.

We neared a grey and grievous land
That thundered by a wintry sea;
I touched the sorrow of her hand,
But nothing sad said she:
She turned from love at death's command
To death eternally.

We passed the numbly moaning bar;
We heard the harbour bell,
Its dull fog-muffled clang from far
Came like a lorn death-knell.
The quay-lights pushed