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1876–1944

THE TIDE OF

Helen Hay Whitney

Love, when you leave me, as with moon-bent tide The glad waves leave the beaches of my heart; Slowly and indolently they depart Ripple by ripple, till the light has died

And left the naked sands forlorn to bide The sea's return. No might of human power Can fill the empty waste, nor take one hour From that long durance in Earth's prison wide.

But when you come again, and hold your hands Dear hands, outstretched to take me, then, the waves, They turn, full flooded on the fainting sands, And all the dimpled hollows smile again,

And brimmed with life, the deep mysterious caves Forget the distant night of lonely pain.

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THE TIDE OF · Helen Hay Whitney · Poetry Cove