Surge

At Granite Island’s seaward side

We sat, and watched the surging tide,

The rapid rip, the capping crest,

The stinging spray, the ragged nest;

The long slow wheel of the sea bird, moaning,

The deep-felt urge of the white sea, foaming.

 

You laid your head on me, and cried:

'How long, how long?' And I replied:

'This day is ours, and for the rest….

Ah well,' I sighed, and sought your breast;

You turned, long-lost at the deep shades forming

While I caught tears at the tip of day, dawning.

 

David Lewis Paget