No One Can Stem the Tide. Jane Tyson Clement

stealthy step they stalked the greedy gull.

      A noose they laid around the tempting bread

      and waited, breathless, while with stately tread

      the old bird on the sand came closer. Wait!

      Will he be fool enough to seize the bait?

      Ah, clever bird! No boy bamboozles him –

      he rises slightly and on fluttering wing

      seizes the bread and veers off down the beach.

      The sprung noose dangles empty. Out of reach

      over the waves the sagacious seagull flies

      with taunting laughter in his raucous cries.

       II

       Love and Longing

      15

      Now that my love has come I see the reason;

      now I answer its demand;

      it was here always just beyond my vision

      waiting for your lifted hand.

      It has the width of sea, the depth of shadow;

      it holds the storm wind wild and strong,

      and light drawn thin to stars in the sweep of heaven

      and the prow’s clear water-cleaving song.

      16

      My dear, I do not love you as you think,

      not half in mirth, nor briefly, but forever.

      Grant me some power to mend my imperfections;

      admit me strength to make one long endeavor.

      I am not all the surface gloss you think;

      I have a deep glow, too, if you would see.

      I would give proof of faith and fearlessness

      if you would only care, and turn to me.

      17

      (TO R.A.C.)

      The world will find me wiser and more kind

      when you have gone; I’ve read my lesson well,

      taking the best of you there was to learn,

      seeing, though briefly, through your kindling eyes.

      A child was fishing, and we stopped to see;

      you climbed a cherry tree; we stayed beside

      a colored beggar; and you showed me where

      the periwinkle pushed up through the sod;

      we watched one crooked moon break from the hills,

      and saw a dark plane rise to merge with stars;

      we talked until night turned around to light;

      we laughed at nothing and at everything;

      and when I sang somewhere within the house,

      I stopped – to hear your music answering.

      I cannot shut the door, and make an end,

      and change into the old self: that would be

      a true betrayal. It is best to take

      all that you taught me, and to make it mine.

      The world will find me wiser and more kind –

      no brittle bitterness, no sterile hate

      stays in these streets that you have walked of late.

      I fear no evil, and my victory

      gives me the lands wherein you made me free.

      18

      It is too late; you made me wait too long,

      held my heart ringed with fire until the spell

      broke and the flames were quieted to dust,

      and I need wait no longer for your horn

      sounding among the hills. I would be wise

      to walk forgetting in this new release,

      to give my free hands to this world’s demand,

      God’s will – or the will of righteousness on earth –

      too long was I apart from the needs of men,

      single-starred and waiting, deep in sleep.

      But lo, I rise and blow upon the ashes,

      brush them aside, and seek the farthest hill,

      calling your name and asking of your passage.

      I am not free – I wait upon you still.

      19

      Now you are gone I shall not find delight

      in dun soft hills at day’s end, strong spring rain,

      the deep and star-flecked sky of summer’s night,

      nor shall I feel the sharp, exquisite pain

      of music reaching to immortal height

      for beauty’s truth. I shall not have again

      the vigor of the ocean clear my sight

      till nought but sky and sea and you remain.

      Now you are gone, who lifted all my soul

      to planes undreamt of. Beauty through your eyes

      gave new enchantment to the years that roll

      in terrifying silence. I was wise

      beyond all men – but now that you have fled,

      the magic which you gave to me is dead.

      20

      (TO ANNE)

      When you died the wind died, too

      and lay in the earth, grieving,

      and over the earth the dusk came slow;

      why did you think of leaving?

      There was too little of your peace,

      too little of your treasure;

      we would be wise still if we judged

      the wide hills by your measure.

      21

      For you the night is still;

      the moonlight on the hill

      shall come no more. And I

      whose life was touched with flame,

      if I stay not the same

      because the flame must die,

      you will not know.

      For me the night will change,

      the moonlight not be strange,

      nor silvered hill. And you

      whose life was turned to dark

      sleep on and do not mark

      if this small heart stay true,

      if love will go.

      It is for me to keep

      the beauty, while you sleep

      unsullied peace. And I

      who cannot stay the years

      nor live them all in tears

      must watch the vision die

      unchecked and slow.

      22

      (TO