XVIII
The grey sky holds me with a dream-desire
The sea-mists draw me; and against them set,
The sun's bow sings to my wild heart
A thought.
The sea-mists draw me; and against them set,
The sun's bow sings to my wild heart
A thought.
The sweet air holdeth in her gentle hands
My wearied brow, and whispers in my ear;
Above me in the gull's cry comes once more
The thought.
My wearied brow, and whispers in my ear;
Above me in the gull's cry comes once more
The thought.
The pine-trees, moaning, join their mournful voice
With the wind's song, that sings again to me;
And ever ocean's burden thundereth
That thought.
With the wind's song, that sings again to me;
And ever ocean's burden thundereth
That thought.
The harp-strings hold it for a harper's hands;
My soul doth hear and hearing longs to sing,
But from the strings my fingers fall, nor draw
My thought.
My soul doth hear and hearing longs to sing,
But from the strings my fingers fall, nor draw
My thought.
19
