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Title: The Love Of Elinore
Author: John S. Adams [
More Titles by Adams]
SHE stood beside the sea-shore weeping,
While above her stars were keeping
Vigils o'er the silent deep;
While all others, wearied, slumbered,
She the passing moments numbered,
She a faithful watch did keep.
Him she loved had long departed,
And she wandered, broken-hearted,
Breathing songs he loved to hear.
Friends did gather round to win her,
But the thoughts that glowed within her
Were to her most fond and dear.
In her hand she held bright flowers,
Culled from Nature's fairest bowers;
On her brow, from moor and heath,
Bright green leaves and flowers did cluster,
Borrowing resplendent lustre
From the eyes that shone beneath.
Rose the whisper, "She is crazy,"
When she plucked the blooming daisy,
Braiding it within her hair;
But they knew not, what of gladness
Mingled with her notes of sadness,
As she laid it gently there.
For her loved one, ere he started,
While she still was happy-hearted,
Clipped a daisy from its stem,
Placed it in her hair, and told her,
Till again he should behold her,
That should be her diadem.
At the sea-side she was roaming,
When the waves were madly foaming,
And when all was calm and mild,
Singing songs,--she thought he listened,--
And each dancing wave that glistened
Loved she as a little child.
For she thought, in every motion
Of the ceaseless, moving ocean,
She could see a friendly hand
Stretched towards the shore imploring,
Where she stood, like one adoring,
Beckoning to a better land.
When the sun was brightly shining,
When the daylight was declining,
On the shore she'd watch and wait,
Like an angel, heaven-descending,
'Mid the ranks of mortals wending,
Searching for a missing mate.
Years passed on, and when the morning
Of a summer's day gave warning
Of the sweets it held in store,
By the dancing waves surrounded,
Like a fairy one she bounded
To her lover's arms once more.
Villagers thus tell the story,
And they say a light of glory
Hovereth above the spot
Where for days and years she waited,
With a love all unabated,
And a faith that faltered not.
There's a stone that is uplifted,
Where the wild sea-flowers have drifted;
Fonder words no stone o'er bore;
And the waves come up to greet them,
Seeming often to repeat them,
While afar their echoes roar-
"DEATHLESS LOVE OF ELINORE."
[The end]
John S. Adams's poem: Love Of Elinore
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