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h be found If not within the heart's beat Or in the surging sound Of the sea, which is the earth's heart, Beating with tireless might; Beating--tho but a tragedy Life seems on every land and sea; Beating to bring all breath, somehow, Out of despair's blight. THE HERDING Quietly, quietly in from the fields Of the grey Atlantic the billows come, Like sheep to the fold. Shorn by the rocks of fleecy foam, They sink on the brown seaweed at home; And a bell, like that of a bellwether, Is scarcely heard from the buoy-- Save when they suddenly stumble together, In herded hurrying joy, Upon its guidance: then soft music From it is tolled. Far out in the murk that follows them in Is heard the call of the fog-horn's voice, Like a shepherd's--low. And the strays as if waiting it seem to pause And lift their heads and listen--because It is sweet from wandering ways to be driven, When we have fearless breasts, When all that we strayed for has been given, When no want molests Us more--no need of the tide's ebbing And tide's flow. ON THE MAINE COAST The rocks, lean fingers of the land, Reach out into the sea And cool themselves, all day long, In the tide drippingly. They catch the seaweed in them And the starfish on their tips, And gulls that light And the swift flight Of swallows skimming grey and white-- And spars of broken ships. The moon, God's perfect silver, With which He pays the world For toil and quest and day's unrest, Is washed on them and swirled. And avidly they seize it, Then let it slip away, Only again And yet again To grasp at it--as eager men At joy no hand can stay. SEANCE Hovering wings of terns Over the rock-pools flutter, For the tide, ebbed far out, Seems to stumble and stutter; Seems like a spirit lost, Unable to come again Back to the wonted ways and days Of ever-wanting men. And the moon, a medium Trance-pale, is laying her light Over its surge--till, lo, It turns from the deep and night. And the spirit-word it brings Is the message of all time, That doubt is only the ebb of faith, Which ever reflows sublime! A SIDMOUTH LAD Salcombe Hill and fou
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