No sound over the deep, only the desolate foam, White in the evening mist, of the last wave home: No sound over the fields, only the lonely cry Of the last bird speeding to rest and nest 'neath the darkening sky. I walk and I think of you here -- your courage, your truth; I know, Though the lips and the heart be silenced, and the eyes into darkness go, These still may live within me, if I keep my truth, and am brave; Nor mourn too sadly, wildly for one who mourns no more in the grave. Yet, yet, even you will forgive, if a grief, as still as the sea With all its waters a flood at peace, call on hope's shores for thee; You will forgive, if a late bird weary, 'neath a sorrow as dark as the night, Cry low, sad, keen, in so deep a peace, your dear name, once, in the height. |