ON THE SHORE
I WALK along the shore
In a ceaseless roar of rising, falling sound, As if some stormy jungle ringed me round With dark, tormented pine trees writhing, Striving with a wrestling wind To sweep the sky, Wherein a tiger raves, Gnawed with hunger, fiercer than the waves That lap the land and, white-tongued, lick the caves.
This is a feast Of sound, out-bellowing an angry beast ; And here I feel the struggle of creation, Yet this vast ocean, heaving snowy-crested Against the calm, green-breasted land, Has neither race of man, Nor breed of beast contending In the strife unending That is life.
Then how shall man control his own emotion That surges in his heart far stronger than the ocean, And has no sdlid shore to beat upon?
How shall he curb the tiger That, in so small a cage, Consumed by his own hunger Must rage Alone?
0 storm and sea together Beat out the flame that ravages my heart, Waves, cool the burning passion of my quest, Wind, tear the tender voice of love apart, And let me rest!
PHOEBE HESKETH.
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