IN A DARK HOUR

You are not with me—only the moon, The sea and the gulls' cry, out of tune; The myriad cry of the gulls still strewn On the sands where the tide will enter soon.

You are not with me, only the breath Of the wind—and then the wind's death. A shrouding silence then that saith, "Even as wind love vanisheth."

You are not with me—only fear, As old as earth's first frenzied bier That severed two whose hearts were near, And left one with all Life unclear.