John
Presland .
Mortal pain
and mortal
doubt,
Shades
of misery ,
And she
turned
her round
about ,
Facing
from
the
sea.
In
his hand her
hand she
laid ,
As
to
land
they
turned ,
And
her
hand
of
sea -foam
made
.
'Neath
his
fingers
burned .
On
they went,
then ,
he and
she ,
Walking
towards
the East !
And her
sisters of the
sea
Their
bewailing
ceased .
As
it
paled
towards
the
dawn,
From
the
light
they
filed
;
But
she
laughed
with
joy
new
-
born
,
"
Is
this life
?
”
she
said
.
There
was labour
of
the
day
,
Dust
upon
her feet
,
Scorching
of
the
shadeless
way
,
Clamour
of
the
street
;
All
a
human
want and
pain
,
Laughter
fraught
with
tears
;
Toil
,
when
toil
we
know
is
vain
,
Hope
,
when
hopes
are fears
;
159