FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST.

Returning from what other seas

Dost thou renew thy murmuring,

Weak Tide, and hast thou aught of these

To tell, the shores where float and cling

My love, my hope, my memories?

Say does my lady wake to note

The gold light into silver die?

Or do thy waves make lullaby,

While dreams of hers, like angels, float

Through star-sown spaces of the sky?

Ah, would such angels came to me

That dreams of mine might speak with hers,

Nor wake the slumber of the sea

With words as low as winds that be

Awake among the gossamers!