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POEMS AND LYRICS.
With the issue Earth cannot refuse
When men to their labour are sworn.
'Twas a song of the God of the Muse
To the forehead of Morn.
IX.
Him loved she. Lo, now was he veiled
Over sea stood a swelled cloud-rack:
The fishing-boat havenward sailed,
Bent abeam, with a whitened track,
Surprised, fast hauling the net
As it flew: sea dashed, earth shook.
She said: Is it night? O not yet!
With a travail of thoughts in her look.
The mountain heaved up to its peak:
Sea darkened: earth gathered her fowl:
Of bird or of branch rose the shriek.
Night? but never so fell a scowl
