The Sister
WHAT is balm for a soul distressed, O! sailor tell to me?
‘A good ship in a fighting wind glad of an angry sea.
The leaping timbers ‘neath your feet, the salt upon your cheek,
Never soul could mourn, my sister, O! never heart could break.’
What is joy for a stricken heart, O! hunter tell me true?
‘A brave horse speeding o’er the plain beneath a sky storm blue.
The splendid life against your knee, the wind’s hand in your hair,
Never heart could grieve, my sister, O! never soul despair.’
What is good for a soul outworn, O! soldier tell to me?
‘A bright sword in your eager hand, a coming foe to see.
When steel to steel breaks into song, and all the world is red,
How could hope be lost, my sister, how could joy be dead?’
I am woman born, my brother, such deeds are not for me.
‘Then seek some solitary place beneath a Cyprus tree,
And dig a grave both wide and long, O! dig it wide and deep
To hold a woman’s restless heart and hush her soul to sleep.’
