Nora May French

By George Sterling

I saw the shaken stars of midnight stir,
    And winds that sought the morning bore to me
    The thunder where the legions of the sea
Are shattered on her stormy sepulcher,
And pondering on bitter things that were,
    On cruelties the mindless Fates decree,
    I felt some shadow of her mystery—
The loneliness and mystery of her.

The waves that break on undiscovered strands,
    The winds that die on seas that bear no sail,
        Stars that the deaf, eternal skies annul,
Were not so lonely as was she. Our hands
    We reach to thee from Time—without avail,
        O spirit mighty and inscrutable!

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