ALL night the waves broke in upon the shore
Beneath my window, and I heard the rain
With querulous, weak fingers, evermore
Beating against the pane.
And through the darkness saw–was it the sweep
Of some white sea-bird's wing above the foam,
That fain would cross those waters, wild and deep,
And find its mate and home ?
Or was it–oh, dear feet, why should you leave
The halls of Heaven, with all their warmth and light,
To come where winds wail and where waters grieve,
Seeking my door last night ?
Surely you came not; 'twas some bird's white breast
Flashed through the night, and not your waving hand,
Some sea-gull, weary of the waves' unrest,
That sought the steadfast land.
And yet, amid the sobbing of the rain,
Outside my window in the dark and chill,
I heard your voice, that ever and again
Called, and would not be still–
Until the morning came, sullen and red,
With waves that beat still foaming on the shore,
The wind and rain had ceased, and lo! my dead
Had gone from me once more.
