Poems (Cromwell)/By the Sea
For works with similar titles, see By the Sea.
BY THE SEA
O Friend, we meet and feel as free
As two young children. By the sea
We sift the sand. From where we sit
The line of shore seems infinite.
The landward little dunes that lie
In drifted shapes against the sky,
Divide and sever and seclude
Us from the scenes that could intrude
Upon our chosen time of pleasure:
In the ocean's louder measure,
Speech is tempered add we dare
To voice perplexities the air
Transmutes to clearer truth for us.
Our love is new and venturous,
Permits veiled intervals and terms
Of silence; in each pause affirms
Implicit sympathies. Our words
Take wing, float seaward, like the birds
Upon the wind. The birds and love
Are free to soar to climes above.
.......
But there are white waves tethered under
Wanton wings. Are those, I wonder,
Like our thoughts,—less fugitive,
Less free than love is,—tentative
And groping, lest they touch and stir,
On memories' mystic barrier,
An unforgotten pain? Are we
Then fettered, we who feel so free?
We sift the sand. From where we sit
The line of shore seems infinite.
But waves into their tidal fold
Obedient fall. Unto what mould
Of wonted pain must you comply?
O tell me, are you bound as I
With links of your own failure? Tell
Me, do the crowded years compel
And hinder you? What tyranny
Distorted life, like an oak tree
The wind has twisted? Long ago
Youth was rebellious. Now we know
Our thought is tethered like a wave,
And strong compelling tides enslave
Our spirits. No, we are not free.
And still we almost seem to be—
For since we newly love, our words
Take wing, float seaward like the birds.
As two young children. By the sea
We sift the sand. From where we sit
The line of shore seems infinite.
The landward little dunes that lie
In drifted shapes against the sky,
Divide and sever and seclude
Us from the scenes that could intrude
Upon our chosen time of pleasure:
In the ocean's louder measure,
Speech is tempered add we dare
To voice perplexities the air
Transmutes to clearer truth for us.
Our love is new and venturous,
Permits veiled intervals and terms
Of silence; in each pause affirms
Implicit sympathies. Our words
Take wing, float seaward, like the birds
Upon the wind. The birds and love
Are free to soar to climes above.
.......
But there are white waves tethered under
Wanton wings. Are those, I wonder,
Like our thoughts,—less fugitive,
Less free than love is,—tentative
And groping, lest they touch and stir,
On memories' mystic barrier,
An unforgotten pain? Are we
Then fettered, we who feel so free?
We sift the sand. From where we sit
The line of shore seems infinite.
But waves into their tidal fold
Obedient fall. Unto what mould
Of wonted pain must you comply?
O tell me, are you bound as I
With links of your own failure? Tell
Me, do the crowded years compel
And hinder you? What tyranny
Distorted life, like an oak tree
The wind has twisted? Long ago
Youth was rebellious. Now we know
Our thought is tethered like a wave,
And strong compelling tides enslave
Our spirits. No, we are not free.
And still we almost seem to be—
For since we newly love, our words
Take wing, float seaward like the birds.