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Xantippe, and Other Verse. Levy, Amy, 1861–1889.
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page: 16

Ralph to Mary.

  • LOVE, you have led me to the strand,
  • Here, where the stilly, sunset sea,
  • Ever receding silently,
  • Lays bare a shining stretch of sand ;
  • Which, as we tread, in waving line,
  • Sinks softly ’neath our moving feet ;
  • And looking down our glances meet,
  • Two mirrored figures—yours and mine.
  • To‐night you found me sad, alone,
  • Amid the noisy, empty books
  • And drew me forth with those sweet looks,
  • And gentle ways which are your own.
  • The glory of the setting sun
  • Has sway’d and softened all my mood ;
  • This wayward heart you understood,
  • Dear love, as you have always done.
page: 17
  • Have you forgot the poet wild,
  • Who sang rebellious songs and hurl’d
  • His fierce anathemas at ‘the world,’
  • Which shrugg’d its shoulders, pass’d and smil’d?
  • Who fled in wrath to distant lands,
  • And sitting, thron’d upon a steep,
  • Made music to the mighty deep,
  • And thought, ‘Perhaps it understands.’
  • Who back return’d, a wanderer drear,
  • Urged by the spirit’s restless pain,
  • Sang his wild melodies in vain—
  • Sang them to ears that would not hear. . . .
  • A weary, lonely thing he flies,
  • His soul’s fire with soul’s hunger quell’d,
  • Till, sudden turning, he beheld
  • His meaning—mirrored in your eyes! . . .
  • Ah, Love, since then have passed away
  • Long years ; some things are chang’d on earth;
  • Men say that poet had his worth,
  • And twine for him the tardy bay.
page: 18
  • What care I, so that hand in hand,
  • And heart in heart we pace the shore ?
  • My heart desireth nothing more,
  • We understand,—we understand.
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