The Lost Women

THESE are the Lost, waifs which from wave to wave
Drift lone, while yonder on the yellow strand
The laughing Children run from cave to cave
And happy Lovers wander hand in hand.

The sun shines yonder on the green hillside,
The bright spire points to Heaven through leafy trees,
The Maiden wears the glory of a Bride,
The bright babe crows on the young
Mother's knees.

O happy Brides! O happy Mothers! born
To inherit all the light that life can give,
Hear ye these voices out of depths forlorn?
Know ye these Lost, who die that you mav live?