Lyr. Add: The Lover
T. G. Roberts

Never had inland garden seemed
So still, so drugged with dew;
Never had green trees sung so sweet
Beneath the empty blue.

"As when he came, so gay, so sad,
And won the heart of me
With those quick moods of his, like shades
Cloud-blown upon the sea.

"Such fairy islands he had seen
Between the blue and grey!
His low-voiced ballads dimmed my eyes,
And lured my heart away.

"He spoke of gale and anchorage;
Of cities far and fair;
Of roses over crumbling walls
Beyond the clanging square.

"He spoke of comradeship; of men
Red-blooded and clear-eyed,
Who feared no risk of war, or chance,
Or continent, or tide.

"He spoke of brave adventurings,
And of those nameless quests
Which lead men down to death, or home
With stars upon their breasts.

"He spoke of love. Ah, tenderly
He told his dreams of love-
Dreams the sea-winds had brought to him
When stars were white above.

*************************

"Never has inland garden seemed
So still, so warm, so sweet,
Since he went through the little gate
And down the glaring street.

"What counted all his ringing vows-
So false, so fine, so brave?
I gave him all my heart. Dear God,
What bitterness he gave!"

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Below the blue, beneath the weed,
In those strange ways and dim,
Death holds him with a dream of Her-
Doubt brings no pang to him.

Theodore Goodridge Roberts, 1926, The Lost Shipmate, The Ryerson Poetry Chap-books, Toronto.