- THE WATER
WHERE the curlew cries all night
I know a lonely water,
Tall reeds grow there and they bow the head
As at the passing of one dead,
Who had been a king's daughter.
And a low faint sobbing goes up from them
Like the voice of the grey, cold rain,
That drifts without pause o'er the marshes dim,
Where the road crosses the plain.
And I gaze with a vacant eye.
On the shadowy weeds that float,
With their arabesques of destiny
Around a fairy boat.
And I start and shudder with fear,
What dead went by this water?
Did my own love drift by me here?
Was it this that filled me with ghastly fear?
Was she that king's dead daughter?
Oh curlew crying again:
Oh reeds that sob in the waters!
They are human tears that make this rain
That darkens the marshes and fills the plain.
Our loves are all kings' daughters!
