ESQUISSE
Slow rollers sweeping to the beach,
The shoremost brilliant in the moon;
Two lovers clinging each to each,
Knowing they must be parted soon.
Poor souls that strive in vain to think
Of hope, though thought of hope were vain,
Poor shadowed hearts that dumbly shrink
The anguish of a lonely pain!
Ah! sad beyond all power of speech
That Life and life are out of tune. . . .
The shoremost roller on the beach
Breaks and is snow-white in the moon.
LASSITUDE
The room is filled full of the peace of night,
The small flames murmur and flicker and sway,
Within me is neither shadow, nor light,
Nor night, nor twilight, nor dawn, nor day.
For the brain strives not to the goal of thought,
And the limbs lie wearied, and all desire
Sleeps for a while, and I am naught
But a pair of eyes that gaze at a fire.
