Celia Thaxter

Doubt

THE wild rose blooms for the sun of June,
         The tide ebbs slowly out;
I hear in the dreamy afternoon
         The far-off fisher’s shout.
 
The sand lies gray and the sea leaps blue,
         The tide ebbs slowly out;
O lover mine, who called to you,
         That you left me here to doubt?
 
The white gull’s wing sweeps the whiter foam,
         The tide ebbs slowly out;
'T is not your white sail, yearning home
         To put my fears to rout!
 
The rose may blush and the sun may shine,
         The tide ebbs slowly out;
The world is good if you are mine,
         Ashes and dust without!
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