Divided - Part IV

A breathing sigh--a sigh for answer;
A little talking of outward things:
The careless beck is a merry dancer,
Keeping sweet time to the air she sings.
A little pain when the beck grows wider--
"Cross to me now, for her wavelets swell:"
"I may not cross" and the voice beside her
Faintly reacheth, though heeded well.
No backward path; ah! no returning:
No second crossing that ripple's flow:
"Come to me now, for the west is burning:
Come ere it darkens."--"Ah, no! ah, no!"
Then cries of pain, and arms outreaching--
The beck grows wider and swift and deep;
Passionate words as of one beseeching--
The loud beck drowns them: we walk and weep.