Green waves and green grasses--and nought else is nigh,
But a shadow that beckons;
A desolate face,
And a shadow that beckons
The desolate face to the desolate place
Where the loneliest sea meets the loneliest sky.
Wide sea and wide heaven, and all else afar,
But a spirit is singing,
A desolate soul
That is joyfully winging--
A desolate soul--to that desolate goal
Where the loneliest wave meets the loneliest star.
"It is not good," said Silencieux.
"I know," answered Antony.
"Throw it into the sea."
"It is not worthy of the sea."
"Burn it."
"Fire is too august."
"Throw it to the winds."
"They are too busy."
"Bury it."
"It would make barren a whole meadow."
"Forget it."
"I will--And you?"
"I will."
And Antony and Silencieux laughed softly together by the sea.
Many days Antony and Silencieux stayed together by the sea. They loved
it together in all its changes, in sun and rain, in wild wind and dreamy
calm; at morning when it shone like a spirit, at evening when it
flickered like a ghost, at noon when it lay asleep curled up like a
woman in the arms of the land.
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