by: Sidney Henry Morse
not the oracle
- That drove you from my board:
- I bow before the dark decree
- That scatters as I hoard.
- Ye vanished like the sailing ships
- That ride far out to sea:
- I murmur, as your farewell dies,
- And your form floats from me.
- Ah! ties are sundered in this hour;
- No tide of fortune rare
- Shall bring my hearts I owned before,
- And my love's loss repair.
- When voyagers make a foreign port,
- And leave their precious prize,
- Returning home, they bear for freight
- A bartered merchandise.
- Alas! when ye come back to me,
- And come not as of yore,
- But with your alien wealth and peace,
- Can we be lovers more?
- I gave you up to go your ways,
- O you whom I adored!
- Love hath no ties but Destiny
- Shall cut them with a sword.
MORE POEMS BY SIDNEY HENRY MORSE
"Sundered" is reprinted
from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed.
Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.