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.
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