The lost mate - Arabel Moulton-Barrett

Two singing birds have come flying across the sea;

but only one has reached land. He mourns his mate:

Answer me, sing to me,
Mate of my heart,
Tho' I call out to thee,
Silent thou art.
Leaves of the foreat tree
Leap to thy song:
Rock of the mountain-aide
Echoing on.
God of the summer storm,
Sunny and wild!
God of the singing stream,
God undefiled!
Sing to me, turn to me,
So I may learn of thee;
Song-god I yearn to be,
Song to regain.
Give to me, tell to me,
Sing me again
Song of the running brook
Song of the rain.

Oh, could I sing to thee
Song of the sun;
Song of the singing star,
Wandering on:
Vagabond worlds that go
Caroling through -
Would I could sing of them,
Woo thee anew.
Song of the seraphim,
Deep in the sky;
Straight would I gather it,
Loitering by;
Then should I sing to thee,
Speed to thee, wing to thee;
Song should I bring to thee:
Glorious still.
Waters should roar to thee:
Blossoms should fill
All the sweet path of thee,
Pastrue and hill.

Lost to me, lost to me,
Witherward fled?
Gone from me, gone from me,
Shadow-ward sped,
Hearing thy voice, to me
Echoing still;
Seeing the flight of thee,
Will of my will.
Beat of thy flyng wing,
Flashing of blue;
Throb of thy eager breast
Dipt in the dew.
Lost the wild song of me,
Notes that belong to thee;
Love-torn and strong, to be
Mute in the sun.
Shame to me, shame to me
Summer is run;
Silent thou art to me
Singing is done.

---

Arabel Moulton-Barrett (1860 - 1953) Jamaica

Source: Anthology of the Poetry of the West Indies, chosen and edited by W. Adolphe Roberts, c.1955