BLACK SONG

By Robert Nichols

Day wanes slowly;

On the hill no sound

Save the wind uttering

Chords low... few... profound.

How the west smokes and quivers!

It sears, it blinds my sight;

I am burned out wholly,

Hide me from the light.

Within dear arms yoke me,

Gather me. I am sped

Into your little bosom

Press, hide my childish head.

How long I have struggled

I know not; but the past

Seems twice livelong,

Beaten at the last!

My soul leaps and shudders

In pain none understands;

With your clear voice calm it,

Soothe it with your hands.

I can say only

— So lost am I, so distressed —

“I love you: I am tired.”

You must guess the rest.

I love you: I am tired.

I give you my soul,

It hurts me. Hate has lamed it.

Take it; make it whole.