Hortense Flexner: Voyage

“Out of the night I hear a voice,
Out of the sea a cry.
The swift, white arms of the reaching waves
Toss as we pass them by;
The foam hands grasp in the emptiness,
And sink in the black to die.

I lean to the night, I lean to the sea,
To the round on round of blue,
Where the barren stretch of the moon-laced waves
Divides the world in two;
There is no comfort in the dark,
I may not come to you.”