THE BALLAD OF A SEA-NYMPH

Where the water meets the sands

All alone sat she,

Wrung her hair with chilly hands

That glimmered mistily.

Phosphorescent were the drips

From her hair she wrung,

And like moonlight on her lips

Were the words she sung.

White she was, as white as foam

‘ Neath a moonlit sky,

And the treasures of her home

On her brow did lie.

There he found her, he, a man,

Wandering by the sea,

And desire through him ran —

Misty-white was she.

There he wooed her, wooed her long,

Till, within her eyes,

Where were erst moonshine and song,

Dawned in slow surprise

Mortal pain and mortal doubt,

Shades of misery,

And she turned her round about,

Facing from the sea.

In his hand her hand she laid,

As to land they turned,

And her hand of sea-foam made

‘ Neath his fingers burned.

On they went then, he and she,

Walking toward the East;

And her sisters of the sea

Their bewailing ceased

As it paled towards the dawn,

From the light they fled;

But she laughed with joy new-born.

“Is this life?” she said.

There was labour of the day,

Dust upon her feet,

Scorching of the shadeless way,

Clamour of the street;

All a human want and pain,

Laughter fraught with tears,

Toil, when toil we know is vain,

Hope, when hopes are fears;

Till this creature of the sea

At the last became

Human, in her misery,

Joy, and pride, and shame.

With a word he left her then

“Woman that you are,

Mystery attracts us men

Draws us from afar.

“Sea-nymph as you were, a thing

Intangible, unknown,

Like the light the sunbeams fling,

Where the spray is blown,

“Sea-nymph have you ceased to be,

Forfeited the whole

Of that moonlight poetry,

Cherished by man's soul;

“Still we seek the dim Ideal

As the moth the star,

How for women can we feel

That our seekings bar?”

Where the water meets the sands,

All alone sat she,

With her head between her hands,

Facing from the sea;

From her forehead pushed her hair

Drooping wearily,

Shivered by the water there:

“Oh, soul's a curse,” said she.