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Eudoxia. Third Picture

O SILENT my sister, who stands by my side at the shore,
Back gazing with me on those waves which we mortals call years,
That rose, grew, and threatened, and climaxed, and broke, and were o'er,
While we still sit watching and watching, our cheeks free from tears--
O sister, with looks so familiar, yet strange, flitting by,
Say, say, hast thou been to those dead years as faithful as I?

Have they cast at thy feet also, jewels and whitening bones,
Gold, silver, and wreck-wood, dank sea-weed and treasures of cost?
Hast thou buried thy dead, sought thy jewels 'midst shingle and stones,
And learnt how the lost is the found, and the found is the lost?
Or stood with clear eyes upturned placid 'twixt sorrow and mirth,
As asking deep questions that cannot be answered on earth?--

I know not. Who knoweth? Our own souls we scarcely do know,
And none knows his brother's. Who judges, contemns, or bewails,
Or mocketh, or praiseth? In this world's strange vanishing show,
The one truth is loving. O sister, the dark cloud that veils
All life, lets this rift through to glorify future and past.
'Love ever--love only--love faithfully--love to the last.'

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?

HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.

poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Brothers, Sisters

I don’t care what skin you’re in
You’re my brother
And I love you

I don’t care how messed up its bin
You’re my sister
And I love you

The past
Its history
He’s won the victory
You’re my brother
My sister
I love you

South African
Through and through
Should have Gone through pain and sorrow with you
My brothers and sisters
I love you

I watched as people discriminated
They ostracized
The pride
The pain
My brother
My sister
Love hurts

But by Christ we see
It’s the only way it should be
Sacrifice fuels our hearts
It sets us ablaze
For you
I will risk it

Our citizenship
On paper- False
But in our hearts- the rebirth certificate
A citizenship not of this world

Made one by Christ
We’re together
No more divides
My brother and sister
I love you

How can I just stand by?
How can I live my life without loving you?
You’re my brother
You’re my sister
And I love you

By his scars we are made one
By his bruises set free
He accepts us as we are
Broken and battered
He loves us at the greatest cost
So why should I hold back?
How can I?

With such knowledge all I can do is love you
My brother and my sister

poem by Jessica Nobubele Frame
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry

Our fire will rise
Ringmaster's eyes
Funhouse will rock
Those boys don't lie
Immortal fear
It's voice so clear
Through broken walls
Your screams I hear
Cry little sister
Come, come to your brother
Unchain me sister
Love is with your brother
Clown masquerade rich boys look up
When will they learn
This loneliness?
Temptation's heat
Milenko's word
Deep in your soul
You cannot lie
Come, come to your brother
Unchain me sister
Love is with your brother
Our shangrila
You can't forget
Always so close
Come to us now
Cry little sister
Come, come to your brother
Unchain me sister
Love is with your brother
Cry little sister
Come, come to your brother
Unchain me sister
Love is with your brother
Cry, little sister

song performed by by Zug Izland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eudoxia. First Picture

O SWEETEST my sister, my sister that sits in the sun,
Her lap full of jewels, and roses in showers on her hair;
Soft smiling and counting her riches up slow, one by one,
Cool-browed, shaking dew from her garlands--those garlands so fair,
Many gasp, climb, snatch, struggle, and die for--her every-day wear!
O beauteous my sister, turn downwards those mild eyes of thine,
Lest they stab with their smiling, and blister or scorch where they shine.
Young sister who never yet sat for an hour in the cold,
Whose cheek scarcely feels half the roses that throng to caress,
Whose light hands hold loosely these jewels and silver and gold,
Remember thou those in the world who forever on press
In perils and watchings, and hunger and nakedness,
While thou sit'st content in the sunlight that round thee doth shine.
Take heed! these have long borne their burthen--now lift thou up thine.

Be meek--as befits one whose cup to the brim is love-crowned,
While others in dry dust drop empty--What, what canst thou know
Of the wild human tide that goes sweeping eternally round
The isle where thou sit'st pure and calm as a statue of snow,
Around which good thoughts like kind angels continually go?
Be pitiful. Whose eyes once turned from the angels to shine
Upon publicans, sinners? O sister, 't will not pollute thine.
Who, even-eyed, looks on His children, the black and the fair,
The loved and the unloved, the tempted, untempted--marks all,
And metes--not as man metes? If thou with weak tender hand dare
To take up His balances--say where His justice should fall,
Far better be Magdalen dead at the gate of thy hall--
Dead, sinning, and loving, and contrite, and pardoned, to shine
Midst he saints high in heaven, than thou, angel sister of mine!

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Itylus

Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow,
How can thine heart be full of the spring?
A thousand summers are over and dead.
What hast thou found in the spring to follow?
What hast thou found in thine heart to sing?
What wilt thou do when the summer is shed?

O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow,
Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south,
The soft south whither thine heart is set?
Shall not the grief of the old time follow?
Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth?
Hast thou forgotten ere I forget?

Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow,
Thy way is long to the sun and the south;
But I, fulfilled of my heart's desire,
Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow,
From tawny body and sweet small mouth
Feed the heart of the night with fire.

I the nightingale all spring through,
O swallow, sister, O changing swallow,
All spring through till the spring be done,
Clothed with the light of the night on the dew,
Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow,
Take flight and follow and find the sun.

Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow,
Though all things feast in the spring's guest-chamber,
How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet?
For where thou fliest I shall not follow,
Till life forget and death remember,
Till thou remember and I forget.

Swallow, my sister, O singing swallow,
I know not how thou hast heart to sing.
Hast thou the heart? is it all past over?
Thy lord the summer is good to follow,
And fair the feet of thy lover the spring:
But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover?

O swallow, sister, O fleeting swallow,
My heart in me is a molten ember
And over my head the waves have met.
But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow
Could I forget or thou remember,
Couldst thou remember and I forget.

O sweet stray sister, O shifting swallow,
The heart's division divideth us.
Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree;
But mine goes forth among sea-gulfs hollow
To the place of the slaying of Itylus,
The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea.

O swallow, sister, O rapid swallow,
I pray thee sing not a little space.
Are not the roofs and the lintels wet?
The woven web that was plain to follow,
The small slain body, the flower-like face,
Can I remember if thou forget?

O sister, sister, thy first-begotten!
The hands that cling and the feet that follow,
The voice of the child's blood crying yet
Who hath remembered me? who hath forgotten?
Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow,
But the world shall end when I forget.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eurydice

HE came to call me back from death
To the bright world above.
I hear him yet with trembling breath
Low calling, “O sweet love!
Come back! The earth is just as fair;
The flowers, the open skies are there;
Come back to life and love!”

Oh! all my heart went out to him,
And the sweet air above.
With happy tears my eyes were dim;
I called him, “O sweet love!
I come, for thou art all to me.
Go forth, and I will follow thee,
Right back to life and love!”

I followed through the cavern black;
I saw the blue above.
Some terror turned me to look back:
I heard him wail, “O love!
What hast thou done! What hast thou done!”
And then I saw no more the sun,
And lost were life and love.

poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Factories

I have shut my little sister in from life and light
(For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair),
I have made her restless feet still until the night,
Locked from sweets of summer and from wild spring air;
I who ranged the meadow lands, free from sun to sun,
Free to sing and pull the buds and watch the far wings fly,
I have bound my sister till her playing-time is done -
Oh, my little sister, was it I? - was it I?
I have robbed my sister of her day of maidenhood
(For a robe, for a feather, for a trinket's restless spark),
Shut from Love till dusk shall fall, how shall she know good,
How shall she pass scatheless through the sinlit dark?
I who could be innocent, I who could be gay,
I who could have love and mirth before the light went by,
I have put my sister in her mating-time away -
Sister, my young sister, - was it I? - was it I?
I have robbed my sister of the lips against her breast
(For a coin, for the weaving of my children's lace and lawn),
Feet that pace beside the loom, hands that cannot rest,
How can she know motherhood, whose strength is gone?
I who took no heed of her, starved and labor-worn,
I against whose placid heart my sleepy gold heads lie,
Round my path they cry to me, little souls unborn,
God of Life - Creator! It was I! It was I!

poem by Margaret Widdemer
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A sister. A brother.

A brother is the one who holds you as you shake in fear.
A sister is the one who looks up at you with love on her face.
A brother is the one who whipes the tears from your face and hugs you tight.
A sister is the one who tells you her deepest fears and her dreams for the future.
A brother is the one who watches as you becomes the woman you always wanted to be.
A sister is the one who fulfills her dreams with you right by her side, cheering her on.
A brother is the one who holds you through the downs and smiles through the ups.
A sister is the one who thanks you for your love and support.
A brother is the one who just smiles and says it was his pleasure.
A sister is the one who looks at you like the stars that shine.
A brother is the one who looks at you like you are his world.
A sister.
A brother.

They need each other.

poem by Samantha Hickey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Age And Death

Come closer, kind, white, long-familiar friend,
Embrace me, fold me to thy broad, soft breast.
Life has grown strange and cold, but thou dost bend
Mild eyes of blessing wooing to my rest.
So often hast thou come, and from my side
So many hast thou lured, I only bide
Thy beck, to follow glad thy steps divine.
Thy world is peopled for me; this world's bare.
Through all these years my couch thou didst prepare.
Thou art supreme Love-kiss me-I am thine!

poem by Emma Lazarus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Korner And His Sister

Green wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest,
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest,
And, in the stillness of thy country's breast,
Thy place of memory, as an altar keepest;
Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was pour'd,
Thou of the Lyre and Sword!

Rest, bard! rest, soldier! by the father's hand
Here shall the child of after years be led,
With his wreath-offering silently to stand,
In the hush'd presence of the glorious dead.
Soldier and bard! for thou thy path hast trod
With freedom and with God.

The oak wav'd proudly o'er thy burial-rite,
On thy crown'd bier to slumber warriors bore thee,
And with true hearts thy brethren of the fight
Wept as they vail'd their drooping banners o'er thee.
And the deep guns with rolling peal gave token,
That Lyre and Sword were broken.

Thou hast a hero's tomb: a lowlier bed
Is hers, the gentle girl beside thee lying,
The gentle girl, that bow'd her fair, young head
When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying.
Brother, true friend! the tender and the brave
She pined to share thy grave.

Fame was thy gift from others; but for her,
To whom the wide world held that only spot,
She loved thee! lovely in your lives ye were,
And in your early deaths divided not.
Thou hast thine oak, thy trophy:–What hath she?
Her own blest place by thee!

It was thy spirit, brother! which had made
The bright earth glorious to her thoughtful eye,
Since first in childhood midst the vines ye play'd,
And sent glad singing thro' the free blue sky.
Ye were but two and when that spirit pass'd,
Wo to the one, the last!

Wo, yet not long! She linger'd but to trace
Thine image from the image in her breast,
Once, once again to see that buried face
But smile upon her, ere she went to rest.
Too sad a smile! its living light was o'er,
It answer'd hers no more.

The earth grew silent when thy voice departed,
The home too lonely whence thy step had fled;
What then was left for her, the faithful-hearted?
Death, death, to still the yearning for the dead!
Softly she perish'd: be the Flower deplor'd
Here with the Lyre and Sword!

Have ye not met ere now? so let those trust
That meet for moments but to part for years,
That weep, watch, pray, to hold back dust from dust,
That love, where love is but a fount of tears.
Brother, sweet sister! peace around ye dwell:
Lyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breathings Of Spring

Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs; bring back
The love that I have lost!

WHAT wak'st thou, Spring? sweet voices in the woods,
And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute;
Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,
The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute,
Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,
Ev'n as our hearts may be.

And the leaves greet thee, Spring! the joyous leaves,
Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade,
Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,
When thy south-wind hath pierced the whispery shade,
And happy murmurs, running thro' the grass,
Tell that thy footsteps pass.

And the bright waters they too hear thy call,
Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep!
Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall
Makes melody, and in the forests deep,
Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.

And flowers the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Colouring the cowslip with the sunny hours,
And pencilling the wood-anemone;
Silent they seem yet each to thoughtful eye
Glows with mute poesy.

But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring!
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs?
Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing,
Restorer of forgotten harmonies!
Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art,
What wak'st thou in the heart?

Too much, oh! there too much! we know not well
Wherefore it should be thus, yet rous'd by thee,
What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,
Gush for the faces we no more may see!
How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone,
By voices that are gone!

Looks of familiar love, that never more,
Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet,
Past words of welcome to our household door,
And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet
Spring! midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees,
Why, why reviv'st thou these?

Vain longings for the dead! why come they back
With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms?
Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track
Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs?
Yes! gentle spring; no sorrow dims thine air,
Breath'd by our lov'd ones there!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sylvette

Oh thou, my sister,
Who art not my sister,
Listen to the wise counsel
Of thy brother
Who is not thy brother,
Which thou hast given unto me
And which I heard not,
Being that same wise counsel
Which I spake unto thee
In the first instance
And to which thou also
Hearkenedst not.

For each of us,
Who are not sister and brother,
Is wise to the foolhardiness
Of the other,
For, truly, we are
Brother and sister.

21st August 2008

poem by Don Pearson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Killer

Brother
Sister
It's the loneliness thats the killer
So you want
To be free
To live your life
The way you want to be
Will you give
If we cry
Will we live
Or will we die
Jaded hearts
Heal with time
Shoot that love
So we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
If we try
And live our lives
The way we wanna be
Yeah
Brother brother
Sister sister
Brother brother brother brother brother
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no other love no other love like ours
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no other love no other love like ours
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no love
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Solitary brother
Solitary Sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Racism in among future kings can only lead to no good
Besides all our sons and daughters already know how that feels

song performed by by Seal from Debut
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pig

Isnt it strange
How we move our lives for another day
Like skipping a beat
What if a great wave should
Wash us all away
Just thinking out loud
Dont mean to dwell on this dying thing
But looking at blood
Its alive right now
Deep and sweet within
Pouring through our veins
Intoxicate moving wine to tears
Drinking it deep
Then an evening spent dancing
Its you and me
This love will open our world
From the dark side you can see a glow
Of something bright
Theres much more than we see here
Dont burn the day away
Is this not enough
The blessed sip of life
Is it not enough
Staring down at the ground
Oh then complain and pray
More from above
Greedy little pig
Stop just watch your world trickle away
Oh its your problem now
Itll all be dead and gone in
A few short years
Just love will open our eyes
Just love will put the hope back in our minds
Much more than we could ever know
Dont burn the day away
Come sister
My brother
Shake up your bones shake up your feet
Im saying open up
And let the rain come pouring in
Wash out this tired notion
That the best is yet to come
But while youre dancing on the ground
Dont think of when youre gone
Love! love! - what more is there?
We need the light of love in here
Dont beat your head
Dry your eyes
Let the love in there
There are bad times
But thats ok
Just look for love in it
Dont burn the day away
Look
Here are we
On this starry night staring into space
And I must say
I feel as small as dust
Lying down here
What point could there be troubling
Head down wondering what will
Become of me
Why concern we cannot see
But no reason to abandon it
Time is short but thats all right
Maybe Ill go out in the middle of the night
Take your hands from your eyes, my love
Everything must come to an end sometime
Dont burn the day away
Come sister
My brother
Shake up your bones shake up your feet
Im saying open up
And let the rain come flooding in
Wash out this tired notion
That the best is yet to come
But while youre dancing on the ground
Dont think of when youre gone
Love! love! - what more is there?
We need the light of love in here
Dont beat your head
Dry your eyes
Let the love in there
There are bad times
But thats ok
Just look for love in it

song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Master Of My Pen, The Author Of My Woe

The master of my pen, the author of my woe
My loves sorrow, my love's flower morose
In my night dreams, in strange light show
An apparition of dead love, her ghastly ghost
O! Love dead! To me thou love still grow
And dampen my dreams, with serious tears
Awakening my unconscious to my conscious flow
Insinuating thy sweet sorrow into my love's fears
Thou art dead, and the sadness I feel
Is the sadness thou art, for thou cannot love me again
For thy hand is as weak as air, thou art not real
Only real in my emotive river, of lasting pain
My love, my love, thou became my love only
For thou art dead and I am sorrowfully lonely…

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Point Of View: II

I

In the wood of lost causes, the valley of tears,
Old hopes, like dead leaves, choke the difficult way;
Dark pinions fold dank round the soul, and it hears:
'It is night, it is night, it has never been day;
Thou hast dreamed of the day, of the rose of delight;
It was always dead leaves and the heart of the night.
Drink deep then, and rest, O thou foolish wayfarer,
For night, like a chalice, holds sleep in her hands.'

II

Then you drain the dark cup, and, half-drugged as you lie
In the arms of despair that is masked as delight,
You thrill to the rush of white wings, and you hear:
'It is day, it is day, it has never been night!
Thou hast dreamed of the night and the wood of lost leaves;
It was always noon, June, and red roses in sheaves,
Unlock the blind lids, and behold the light-bearer
Who holds, like a monstrance, the sun in his hands.'

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Error And Loss

Upon an eve I sat me down and wept,
Because the world to me seemed nowise good;
Still autumn was it, & the meadows slept,
The misty hills dreamed, and the silent wood
Seemed listening to the sorrow of my mood:
I knew not if the earth with me did grieve,
Or if it mocked my grief that bitter eve.

Then ’twixt my tears a maiden did I see,
Who drew anigh me on the leaf-strewn grass,
Then stood and gazed upon me pitifully
With grief-worn eyes, until my woe did pass
From me to her, and tearless now I was,
And she mid tears was asking me of one
She long had sought unaided and alone.

I knew not of him, and she turned away
Into the dark wood, and my own great pain
Still held me there, till dark had slain the day,
And perished at the grey dawn’s hand again;
Then from the wood a voice cried: “Ah, in vain,
In vain I seek thee, O thou bitter-sweet!
In what lone land are set thy longed-for feet?”

Then I looked up, and lo, a man there came
From midst the trees, and stood regarding me
Until my tears were dried for very shame;
Then he cried out: “O mourner, where is she
Whom I have sought o’er every land and sea?
I love her and she loveth me, and still
We meet no more than green hill meeteth hill.”

With that he passed on sadly, and I knew
That these had met and missed in the dark night,
Blinded by blindness of the world untrue,
That hideth love and maketh wrong of right.
Then midst my pity for their lost delight,
Yet more with barren longing I grew weak,
Yet more I mourned that I had none to seek.

poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Dark

The moon has but one side of light and beauty,
The other, steeped in never-ending night,
Seems worse than dead, as in the harmony
Of spheres, she cannot even echo. And
She died they say, for love of her great brother,
The glorious Sun, whom she may never reach,
Condemned to be apart, for that great sin
Of love. He was the light and life and joy
Of all her world, how could she then refrain
And love not, when her brother was a god?
But then she died, you see, and was forgiven.
Wherefore is Earth so dark and yet alive?
Wherefore doth fire still melt the gold in depths
So fathomless, that not a spark may light
The poor outside? She wanders through the worlds,
Unknown, without a ray, and yet alive
With foaming waters and with words as proud
As flowing hair. Why art thou dark, O Earth?
If thou wert sinless, would not dancing rays
Laugh through the night and gladden other planets?
Would not thy bosom's warmth give life again
To yonder ghost, thy mate in misery?
What hast thou done to be condemned to darkness,
To be a living hell, wherein the souls
Of millions suffer until death? Thy heart
Is gold: hast thou betrayed the sun? Or hast
Thou stolen wondrous goods, in gliding from
The sun? Therefore is Death to be thy child,
A curse to wander on thy lovely sides,
That oft are torn and ever motherly
Will comfort the offender with her off'rings.
Or art thou dark because thy womb must be
The grave of all thy children, Mother Earth?

poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Psalm 18 part 2

v.20-26
L. M.
Sincerity proved and rewarded.

Lord, thou hast seen my soul sincere,
Hast made thy truth and love appear;
Before mine eyes I set thy laws,
And thou hast owned my righteous cause.

Since I have learned thy holy ways,
I've walked upright before thy face;
Or if my feet did e'er depart,
'Twas never with a wicked heart.

What sore temptations broke my rest!
What wars and strugglings in my breast!
But through thy grace, that reigns within,
I guard against my darling sin:

That sin which close besets me still,
That works and strives against my will:
When shall thy Spirit's sovereign power
Destroy it, that it rise no more?

[With an impartial hand, the Lord
Deals out to mortals their reward;
The kind and faithful souls shall find
A God as faithful and as kind.

The just and pure shall ever say,
Thou art more pure, more just than they;
And men that love revenge shall know
God hath an arm of vengeance too.]

poem by Isaac Watts
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The Sisters

ANNIE and Rhoda, sisters twain,
Woke in the night to the sound of rain,

The rush of wind, the ramp and roar
Of great waves climbing a rocky shore.

Annie rose up in her bed-gown white,
And looked out into the storm and night.

'Hush, and hearken!' she cried in fear,
'Hearest thou nothing, sister dear?'

'I hear the sea, and the plash of rain,
And roar of the northeast hurricane.

'Get thee back to the bed so warm,
No good comes of watching a storm.

'What is it to thee, I fain would know,
That waves are roaring and wild winds blow?

'No lover of thine's afloat to miss
The harbor-lights on a night like this.'

'But I heard a voice cry out my name,
Up from the sea on the wind it came.

'Twice and thrice have I heard it call,
And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall!'

On her pillow the sister tossed her head.
'Hall of the Heron is safe,' she said.

'In the tautest schooner that ever swam
He rides at anchor in Anisquam.

'And, if in peril from swamping sea
Or lee shore rocks, would he call on thee?'

But the girl heard only the wind and tide,
And wringing her small white hands she cried,

'O sister Rhoda, there's something wrong;
I hear it again, so loud and long.

''Annie! Annie!' I hear it call,
And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall!'

Up sprang the elder, with eyes aflame,
'Thou liest! He never would call thy name!

'If he did, I would pray the wind and sea
To keep him forever from thee and me!'

Then out of the sea blew a dreadful blast;
Like the cry of a dying man it passed.

The young girl hushed on her lips a groan,
But through her tears a strange light shone,--

The solemn joy of her heart's release
To own and cherish its love in peace.

'Dearest!' she whispered, under breath,
'Life was a lie, but true is death.

'The love I hid from myself away
Shall crown me now in the light of day.

'My ears shall never to wooer list,
Never by lover my lips be kissed.

'Sacred to thee am I henceforth,
Thou in heaven and I on earth!'

She came and stood by her sister's bed
'Hall of the Heron is dead!' she said.

'The wind and the waves their work have done,
We shall see him no more beneath the sun.

'Little will reek that heart of thine,
It loved him not with a love like mine.

'I, for his sake, were he but here,
Could hem and 'broider thy bridal gear,

'Though hands should tremble and eyes be wet,
And stitch for stitch in my heart be set.

'But now my soul with his soul I wed;
Thine the living, and mine the dead!'

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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