38
AT ETRETAT.
AT ETRETAT.
HE ocean beats against the stern, dumb shore The stormy passion of its mighty heart,—
The sky, where no stars shine, is black above,
And thou and I sit from the world apart.
We two, with lives no star of hope makes bright,—
Whom bliss forgets, and joy no longer mocks,—
Hark to the wind's wild cry, the sea's complaint,
And break with wind and sea against the rocks.
Whom bliss forgets, and joy no longer mocks,—
Hark to the wind's wild cry, the sea's complaint,
And break with wind and sea against the rocks.
Sore-wounded, hurled on the dark shore of Fate,
We stretch out helpless hands, and cry in vain,—
Our joy went forth, white-sailed, at dawn of day;
To-night is pitiless for all our pain.
We stretch out helpless hands, and cry in vain,—
Our joy went forth, white-sailed, at dawn of day;
To-night is pitiless for all our pain.
