In Vain
By George Sterling
To what fair thing, O thou my Sweet!
Shall best I liken thee?—
Thou, white as where the sea
Breaks to the foam-flowers delicate and sweet!
Shall I go forth upon the wave
To seek, perchance to find,
Afar from sin and wind,
A moonlike pearl within an ocean cave?—
Then, clasping that, return and say:
"Thou art more fair than this:
Thy maiden bosom is
More white than snows beneath the moon or day?"
And then, should not I yearn to cry:
"Thy forehead is as white,
Oh! and thine eyes' strange light
Sweeter than any stars that take the sky?"
But thou, I dream, wouldst silent stand
With those great eyes of thine,
Young, exquisite, divine,
Turned for a moment on my trembling hand,
And smile a little sadly, till
I knew my gift in vain.
And all for naught the pain
Whose tears of love my hopeless eyes should fill!
Carmel.