Whether the tide so hemmed them round With its pitiless flow, That when they would have gone they found No way to go; Whether she scorned him to the last With words flung to and fro, Or clung to him when hope was past, None will ever know: Whether he helped or hindered her, Threw up his life or lost it well, The troubled sea, for all its stir, Finds no voice to tell. Only watchers by the dying Have thought they heard one pray, Wordless, urgent; and replying, One seem to say him nay: And watchers by the dead have heard A windy swell from miles away, With sobs and screams, but not a word Distinct for them to say: And watchers out at sea have caught Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there, Come and gone as quick as thought, Which might be hand or hair. SPRING QUIET. Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the white-thorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs, Arching high over A cool green house: Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: "We spread no snare; "Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. "Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be." THE POOR GHOST. "O whence do you come, my dear friend, to me, With your golden hair all fallen below your knee, And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea, And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?" "From the other world I come back to you, My locks are uncurled with dripping, drenching dew. You know the old, whilst I know the new: But to-morrow you shall know this too." "O, not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; O, not to-morrow, too soon to go away: Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: Give me another year, another day." "Am I so changed in a day and a night That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, Is fain to turn away to left or right, And cover up his eyes from the sight?" "Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, I loved you for life, but life has an end; Through sickness I was ready to tend; But death mars all, which we cannot mend. "Indeed I loved you; I love you yet If you will stay where your bed is set, Where I have planted a violet Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet." "Life is gone, then love too is gone, It was a reed that I leant upon: Never doubt I will leave you alone And not wake you rattling bone with bone.