Driftwood

The wind's robe rustles on the sand,

The cloudy hosts do run like sheep;

The wind is west and far inland-

They pray to God their souls to keep.

My soul has phases like the moon,

And like the moon it loves the sea.

And as the sea obeys the moon,

My soul obeys the dream of thee.

O woman that I never met,

O woman that I shall not meet,

The beaches of the world are wet

With tears the half-moon findeth sweet.

What ails the sea that cries and cries?-

Why will she weep against the clouds?

The moon blown fainting from the skies,

Why will she wrap her face in shrouds?