Poems (Nora May French)/The Mourner
THE MOURNER
BECAUSE my love has wave and foam for speech, And never words, and yearns as water grieves, With white arms curving on a listless beach, And murmurs inarticulate as leaves—
I am become beloved of the night— Her huge sea-lands ineffable and far Hold crouched and splendid Sorrow, eyed with light, And Pain who beads his forehead with a star.