To Vera (2)

By George Sterling

    The rain hides now the hills
    And valleys far away
        Whose falling rills,
    Along the somber day,
Pass with a sound of music to the sea.
    So run my thoughts to thee.

    Thou dost contain me all—
    Deep in thy heart I lie,
        Nor ever all
    The many waters' cry
Can summon me to fern nor vale nor foam
    Who ask no dearer home.

    Suffer that so I wait
    Who else must fare alone
        And love too late.
    Whether thy star hath shone
On eastern hills or where the sands are wet,
    I follow till it set.

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