the star of the star of the morning
is restful and breathful and free
the star of the star of the evening
blossoms dark as a shadowy tree,
the waves drive out far in their rivers
as blue as a star in the sky,
and the darkness relents for her shivers
must finally die.
waves turning and burning and dancing
clouds wandering e'er ever on
and the darkness that finds the new morning,
as cold as stark night's bitter song,
oh, brother who wept for my sisters
no tears as alive as their breath
swept out where the wild sea blisters
and pain knows of death.
wild whispers, wild birds and the fury
of waves that sing out to the clouds
the death then of life that we bury
laid out in the whitest of shrouds
the sea, oh, the sea, how she sings me
a song of a dance never sung
and her rhythms soon calm and placate me
her bell solemn rung.
and sweet love is the journey i strive for
as blue as a mysterious sea
and the love is a fruit full of succor,
and the moment will live e'er free,
you stand tragic as a painting so mournful
alone as a poet who rests,
and the lull of the storms here at night fall
the sea's treasure chests.
the day wraps the night in her roses
and night wraps the day in her sight
and midnight's soft moonlight supposes
that day is a journey e'er bright,
and love was a love still forever
and love had no rose in her bower
for the floor of the sea like a feather
the delicatest flower.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC
the star of the star of the morning
is restful and breathful and free
the star of the star of the evening
blossoms dark as a shadowy tree,
the waves drive out far in their rivers
as blue as a star in the sky,
and the darkness relents for her shivers
must finally die.
waves turning and burning and dancing
clouds wandering e'er ever on
and the darkness that finds the new morning,
as cold as stark night's bitter song,
oh, brother who wept for my sisters
no tears as alive as their breath
swept out where the wild sea blisters
and pain knows of death.
wild whispers, wild birds and the fury
of waves that sing out to the clouds
the death then of life that we bury
laid out in the whitest of shrouds
the sea, oh, the sea, how she sings me
a song of a dance never sung
and her rhythms soon calm and placate me
her bell solemn rung.
and sweet love is the journey i strive for
as blue as a mysterious sea
and the love is a fruit full of succor,
and the moment will live e'er free,
you stand tragic as a painting so mournful
alone as a poet who rests,
and the lull of the storms here at night fall
the sea's treasure chests.
the day wraps the night in her roses
and night wraps the day in her sight
and midnight's soft moonlight supposes
that day is a journey e'er bright,
and love was a love still forever
and love had no rose in her bower
for the floor of the sea like a feather
the delicatest flower.
Request permission to use this poem