A Reed by the River/A Vigil

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

A VIGIL

Is it nothing to you?
The harvest is over, the summer is past;
Love that lived for your sake, in the chill and the dew
Lies stricken at last.
Love for you that was born,
Smiteth blind at the dark
Yet fain would shun light;
Love that sang in the morn hath a pillow of thorn
And is one with the night.

Is it nothing to you?
Full, full were the lees with rapture and pain;
Love starved where your vineyards in plentitude grew,
Love thirsted, the Marah of tears did he drain;
Turn his face to the dark, set his lips to the dew,
On, on in the dawn with his heart smitten through,—
It is nothing to you.