Page:Poet Lore, volume 28, 1917.djvu/493

Rh She wandered in the woods All day, by starshine, too, Her pale face disconsolate, Her eyes sad to view; She wrung her hands with sorrow As for death to sue.

Why does sadness mar the grace Of one so fair as she? Why greets she not the flowers, Singing joyfully? —He has been drowned, her lover, In the sea.

He has been drownèd in the sea Whom she has loved always; No joy, Nor lovely thing to praise, Nor peace, will ever come to her Through her nights and days.

"I must find my love, My lover in the sea; I cannot live so far away From him," wept she. Sinking down upon the grass, "May death come to me."

The stars came out... like a slender thread Upon the grasses green Her long white robe lay motionless Like a silver seam. But in the morning it was gone — And there appeared a stream! A silver stream flowed in the wood Where she had wandered through, And if you listened to its voice It sang to you,— Every stream meets the sea, The sea that is deep and blue.