Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/197



In final conflagration pales and crumbles Into the darkening waters. Now the stars Burn softly through the dusk. The seaman strikes His small lost bell again, watching the west As she below him watches. . . . O pale goddess Whom not the darkness, even, or rain or storm, Changes; whose great wings are bright with foam, Whose breasts are cold as the sea, whose eyes forever Inscrutably take that light whereon they look— Speak to us! Make us certain, as you are, That somewhere, beyond wave and wave and wave, That dreamed-of harbor lies which we would find. 183