Maybe.
In the pit of midnight tho\' cold
is curtained and
fittingly covered is my yearning
for thee, vain
hope decides to unsleep and keep
me wide-eyed
til morning has for certain broken.
When laid low
by concern I find myself clinging
close to thy
pillow and think of that presence
its hollow holds.
At last a slow winning of pale over
grey as dawn\'s
rosy fingers bid me away, I go to
wait by my cottage
window until high tide, then gaze
from cliff-top
for maybe this one will bring thee
safe home again.