Rapine

She came from some still mossiness
Of quiet ways; and stood with modest hands;
A warmth of body in a shy distress;
A white shell on the sands.
A slender shell she seemed;
And he, the sea
That rose and gathered, beat and dreamed
And longed so restlessly.
She saw him not this imminent, nor moved
Nor spoke. The hot sea swept;
And smothering her fears
It loosed and loved
And left her as she wept,
Wet with his clasp, and wet with all her tears.

by Leon Gellert

Other poems of LEON GELLERT (81)

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