IN A DARK HOUR

You are not with me — only the moon,

The sea and the gulls’ cry, out of tune;

The myriad cry of the gulls still strewn

On the sands where the tide will enter soon.

You are not with me, only the breath

Of the wind — and then the wind's death.

A shrouding silence then that saith,

“Even as wind love vanisheth.”

You are not with me — only fear,

As old as earth's first frenzied bier

That severed two whose hearts were near,

And left one with all Life unclear.