English poem
I.--At The Ebb
by Robert Nichols (1893–1944)
Alone upon the monotonous ocean's verge I take my stand, and view with heavy eye The grey wave rise. I hear its sullen surge, Its bubbling rush and sudden downward sigh....
My friends are dead ... there fades from me the light Of her warm face I loved; upon me stare In the dull noon or deadest hour of night The smiling lips and chill eyes of Despair.
A light wind blows.... I hear the low wave steal In and collapse like a despondent breath. My life has ebbed: I neither see nor feel: I am suspended between life and death.
Again the wave caves in. O, I am worn Smoother than any pebble on the beach! I would dissolve to that whence I was born, Or alway bide beyond the long wave's reach.
O Will, thou only strengthener of man's heart When all is gone--love and the love of friends, When even Earth's comfort has become a part Of that futility nor breaks nor mends:
Strengthen me now against these utmost wrongs; Stay my wrecked spirit within thy control, That men may find some fury in my songs Which, like strong wine, shall fortify the soul.
BENEATH GOLD CAP, June, 1916.