Unsheltered Love

Like a storm-driven and belated bird
That beats witli aimless wings about his nest,
Straining against the storm his eager breast,
So is my love, which by no swift-winged word
May enter at her heart, and there be heard
To sing as birds do, ere they fold in rest
Their wings, still quivering from the last sweet quest
When with their song and flight the air was stirred.

Oh, if some wind of bitter disbelief.
Some terrible darkness of estranging doubt,
Has kept it from thee, now, sweet Love, reach out
Thine hand and pluck it from this storm of grief;
It takes no heed of homeless nights and days.
So in thy heart it find its resting-place.