You’ve been stood up on the sands
so lonely they could cry
if there were but the moisture
to make a tear.
How often have I seen your glass
run down in weary waiting,
sifting oh so swiftly your dejected grains
into the dry sea churn, grinding sway
the round courage of your cheer.
But you are in your sun now,
swallowed in serene forgiving
tears; they bathe your shoulder
where the hair flows gently sullen
’round the soft rolling swells.
Oh, let it long and lonely, Love,
betraying all the liquid drops
that fuse the fountain leaping
in glory, gleaming magnifi-
cent before repentant fear-dumbed eyes!