At Eaglehawk Neck

She moves within

The rapid dream

That seeks to spill

Her tangled skein,

And touches others

Barely seen

Who shadow-pass

Another’s pain.

 

The waters lap

Her anchored feet,

The forests turn her

To the shore,

The whirling tide’s

A skirling scream

That spins her helpless

To the floor.

 

By some embittered

Candlelight

Her pen describes

The blackest line,

To tear the slender

Thread of night

In some despite

Of Valentine!

 

David Lewis Paget