Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
The Gift of the Sea
T
And the widow watched beside;
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept
The gale in the teeth of the tide.
“I have lost my man in the sea,
“And the child is dead. Be still,” she said,
“What more can ye do to me?”
And the candle guttered low,
And she tried to sing the Passing Song
That bids the poor soul go.
“That lay against my heart.”
And “Mary smooth your crib to-night,”
But she could not say “Depart.”
But the sea-rime blinded the glass,
And “Heard ye nothing, mother?” she said,
“’Tis the child that waits to pass.”
“’Tis a lambing ewe in the whin,
“For why should the christened soul cry out
“That never knew of sin?”
“O hands at my heart to catch,
“How should they know the road to go,
“And how should they lift the latch?”
With the little quilt atop,
That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt,
But the crying would not stop.
And strained her eyes to see,
And opened the door on the bitter shore
To let the soul go free.
There was neither spirit nor spark,
And “Heard ye nothing, mother?” she said,
“’Tis crying for me in the dark.”
“’Tis sorrow makes ye dull;
“Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern,
“Or the wail of the wind-blown gull?”
“The grey gull follows the plough.
“’T was never a bird, the voice I heard,
“O mother, I hear it now!”
“The child is passed from harm,
“’Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest,
“And the feel of an empty arm.”
“In Mary’s name let be!
“For the peace of my soul I must go,” she said,
And she went to the calling sea.
Where the twisted weed was piled,
She came to the life she had missed by an hour
For she came to a little child.
And back to her mother she came,
But it would not feed and it would not heed,
Though she gave it her own child’s name.
And her own in the shroud lay stark;
And “God forgive us, mother,” she said,
“We let it die in the dark!”