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8
UPON THE SANDS
I took his cheeks between my hands,
I kissed his face and forehead o'er,
Where he lay on the sheeted sands
Which stretched along the shore.
I kissed his face and forehead o'er,
Where he lay on the sheeted sands
Which stretched along the shore.
The surf crawled slowly up, and sad,
Like some sea-dog which owned his sway,
And yet had rent him—sightless, mad,
It came and moaned all day.
But there he lay, so still and white;
I dared not weep, I thought he slept.
The tearless day shrank back from night;
I might have woke him had I wept.
The night sank down into the seas,
New morning burst upon the skies;
And with its first breath on the breeze
I stooped and kissed his eyes.
