English poem
V.--Shut Of Night
by Robert Nichols (1893–1944)
The sea darkens. Waves roar and rush. The wind rises. The last birds haste. One star over eve's bitter flush Spills on the spouting waste.
Loud and louder the darkened sea. The wind shrills on a monotone. Sky and deep, wrecked confusedly, Travail and cry as one.
Long I look on the deepening sky, The chill star, the forlorn sea breaking; For what does my spirit cry? For what is my heart so aching?
Is it home? but I have no home. Is it tears? but I no more weep. Is it love? love went by dumb. Is it sleep? but I would not sleep.
Must I fare, then, in fear and fever On a journey become thrice far-- Whose sun has gone down for ever, Whose night brings no guiding star?
The wind roars, and an ashen beam Waving up shrinks away in haste. The waves crash. The star's trickling gleam Travels the warring waste.
I look up. In the windy height The lone orb, serene and afar, Shakes with excess of her light....
Beauty, be thou my star!