The Watcher


THE long road and the low shore, a sail against the sky,
The ache in my heart's core, and hope so hard to die--
Ah me, but the day's long--and all the sails go by!

The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame,
The ache in my heart's core, the hope I dare not name--
Ah, me, but the night's long--and every night the same!




Possession


A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone,
A pack on his back and a staff at his knee.
He whistled a tune which he called his own,
"It's a fine new tune, that tune!" said he.

In his pack he carried a crust of bread,
And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by;
"Spring water is wonderful cool," he said,
"And wonderful soft is the summer sky!"