Maurice Lesemann

From “Brushwood”

WOUNDED black eyes in a white, dead-lily face,

And black hair streaming like a river at night,

She stands in the rain at the high desolate place,

Watching till the gray ship shall pass from sight.

Below, the wet black rocks, the Crying Cranes,

Scream with white water, the reef sputters and booms;

And above her black hair the gray sky heavy with rains

Cracks white and thunders to the dark sea that looms

Before that still face. She raises to wild skies

Black torrents of hair. The salt wind whips her shawl,

Bruised the scared grass. She watches with still eyes

The glittering spume-showers burst white and fall.

Burst and cry and fall: there is no end to the crying,

Lonely and gray as a bitter wave long tossed.

Under the torn edge of night the mist is flying

And folding down till the gray ship is lost.