Page:The Poems of Henry Kendall (1920).djvu/123

 So waned the sad refrain. And those poor lips,

Whose latest phrases were for peace, grew mute,

And into everlasting silence passed.

As fares a swimmer who hath lost his breath

In 'wildering seas afar from any help—

Who, fronting Death, can never realize

The dreadful Presence, but is prone to clutch

At every weed upon the weltering wave—

So fared the watcher, poring o'er the last

Of him she loved, with dazed and stupid stare;

Half conscious of the sudden loss and lack

Of all that bound her life, but yet without

The power to take her mighty sorrow in.

Then came a patch or two of starry sky,

And through a reef of cloven thunder-cloud

The soft moon looked: a patient face beyond

The fierce impatient shadows of the slopes

And the harsh voices of the broken hills!

A patient face, and one which came and wrought

A lovely silence, like a silver mist,

Across the rainy relics of the storm.

For in the breaks and pauses of her light

The gale died out in gusts: yet, evermore

About the roof-tree on the dripping eaves,

The damp wind loitered, and a fitful drift

Sloped through the silent curtains, and athwart

The dead.

There, when the glare had dropped behind

A mighty ridge of gloom, the woman turned

And sat in darkness, face to face with God,

And said, "I know," she said, "that Thou art wise;

That when we build and hope, and hope and build,

And see our best things fall, it comes to pass

For evermore that we must turn to Thee!

And therefore, now, because I cannot find

The faintest token of Divinity

In this my latest sorrow, let Thy light

Inform mine eyes, so I may learn to look

On something past the sight which shuts and blinds

And seems to drive me wholly, Lord, from Thee."