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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