LAMENT

by: Isabella Holt

E is gone with his blue eyes,

Whom I love most,--

Gone among the cliffs and fog

On a far coast,--

 

He who scatters wit and pride

From his keen tongue,

He who finds himself so deep

And is so young;--

 

He whose joy is in sweet words

And kindliness,--

Whom old men love, and little boys

No whit the less. . . .

 

Rooms are silent that were glad

Seven days ago.

I can feel across my heart

The great tides flow.

 

Love, the blind importunate,

Craves touch and sight;

Briefly parting, feels and fears

Eternal night.

 

Fear is sweeping on the wind

Like acrid foam.

I have said farewell to peace

Till he comes home.