THE SECRET

  What says the wind to the waving trees? 
    What says the wave to the river? 
  What means the sigh in the passing breeze? 
    Why do the rushes quiver? 
  Have you not heard the fainting cry
  Of the flowers that said “Good-bye, good-bye”?

  List how the gray dove moans and grieves
    Under the woodland cover;
  List to the drift of the falling leaves,
    List to the wail of the lover. 
  Have you not caught the message heard
  Already by wave and breeze and bird?

  Come, come away to the river’s bank,
    Come in the early morning;
  Come when the grass with dew is dank,
    There you will find the warning—­
  A hint in the kiss of the quickening air
  Of the secret that birds and breezes bear.

THE WIND AND THE SEA

  I stood by the shore at the death of day,
    As the sun sank flaming red;
  And the face of the waters that spread away
    Was as gray as the face of the dead.

  And I heard the cry of the wanton sea
    And the moan of the wailing wind;
  For love’s sweet pain in his heart had he,
    But the gray old sea had sinned.

  The wind was young and the sea was old,
    But their cries went up together;
  The wind was warm and the sea was cold,
    For age makes wintry weather.

  So they cried aloud and they wept amain,
    Till the sky grew dark to hear it;
  And out of its folds crept the misty rain,
    In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.

  For the wind was wild with a hopeless love,
    And the sea was sad at heart
  At many a crime that he wot of,
    Wherein he had played his part.

  He thought of the gallant ships gone down
    By the will of his wicked waves;
  And he thought how the church-yard in the town
    Held the sea-made widows’ graves.

  The wild wind thought of the love he had left
    Afar in an Eastern land,
  And he longed, as long the much bereft,
    For the touch of her perfumed hand.

  In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sigh
    His aching grief found vent;
  While the sea looked up at the bending sky
    And murmured:  “I repent.”

  But e’en as he spoke, a ship came by
   That bravely ploughed the main,
  And a light came into the sea’s green eye,
    And his heart grew hard again.

  Then he spoke to the wind:  “Friend, seest thou not
    Yon vessel is eastward bound? 
  Pray speed with it to the happy spot
    Where thy loved one may be found.”

  And the wind rose up in a dear delight,
    And after the good ship sped;
  But the crafty sea by his wicked might
    Kept the vessel ever ahead.

  Till the wind grew fierce in his despair,
    And white on the brow and lip. 
  He tore his garments and tore his hair,
    And fell on the flying ship.