BREAD UPON THE WATERS.

SO you are lost to me!

Ah you, you ear of corn straight lying,

What food is this for the darkly flying

Fowls of the Afterwards!

White bread afloat on the waters,

Cast out by the hand that scatters

Food untowards,

Will you come back when the tide turns?

After many days? My heart yearns

To know.

Will you return after many days

To say your say as a traveller says,

More marvel than woe?

Drift then, for the sightless birds

And the fish in shadow-waved herds

To approach you.

Drift then, bread cast out;

Drift, lest I fall in doubt,

And reproach you.

For you are lost to me!