A SCALLOP shell, loosed by the lifting tide, Had left a friendly shore, the seas to brave ; Its lips of pink and snowy hollow shone Pure in the sun, a pearl upon the wave.
It gleamed and passed — you burdened it with love, With sweet long futures, new and dreamy days : And named for me — because I held your hopes. I bid you hush — not meriting your praise.
I pointed, as your vessel came to shore, Wrecked where the tiny breakers rose and fell ; And bid your voyagers not put to sea So frail a craft as this poor scallop shell.
Let there be an end And all be done ; Pass over, fair eclipse, That hides the sun.
Dear face that shades the light And shadows me, Begone, and give me peace, And set me free.
I STRUCK you once, I do remember well. Hard on the track of passion sorrow sped, And swift repentance, weeping for the blow ; I struck you once — and now you're lying dead !
Now you are gone the blow no longer sleeps In your forgiveness hushed through all the years ; But like a phantom haunts me through the dark, To cry, " You gave your own beloved tears."
Stript now of all excuses, stern and stark. With all your small transgressings dimmed or fled, The ghost returns the blow upon my heart. I struck you once — and now you're lying dead.
I PRAYED SO eagerly, " Turn and see How bitter I have striven — A word and all forgiven." I prayed so eagerly.
I prayed so eagerly — Not to be ; You turned and passed. Goodbye ! Fates smile for me, dreamed I — Yet I prayed eagerly.
When the dark comes, " Is this the end ? " I pray ; No answer from the night, And then once more the day. I take the world again Upon my neck and go Pace with the serious hours. Since fate will have it so, Begone, dead man, unclasp Your hands from round my heart, I and my burden pass. You and your peace depart.
What is the secret of your life, browsing ox, Ox the sweet grass eating ? Who strung the mighty sinews in your flesh ? Who set that great heart beating ?
What is the secret of your death, soulless ox. Ox so patiently waiting ? Why hath pain wove her net for your brain's anguish ? If for you Death will gain no life's creating ?
I CLOSED my hands upon a moth And when I drew my palms apart,
Instead of dusty, broken wings, I found a bleeding human heart.
I crushed my foot upon a worm That had my garden for its goal,
But when I drew my foot aside I found a dying human soul.
The green has come to the leafless tree, The earth brings forth its grain ; The rose has come for the honey bee : You will not come again.
The birds have come to the empty nest, All winter full of rain ; Music has come where the silence was : You will not come again.
Love swift will come for the weak lambs' cry ; Ah for my heart's dull pain ! Lone in the cycle of change am I : You will not come again.
Dora Sigerson Shorter was an Irish poet and sculptor born in Dublin in 1866. She was the daughter of George Sigerson, a physician and writer, and became associated with the Irish Literary Revival. Her poetry often explores themes of Irish mythology, fairy lore, and political unrest, particularly the struggle for Irish independence. Her style is characterized by musicality and a strong narrative drive, blending romanticism with folk elements. She published several collections, including "Ballads and Poems" (1899) and "The Story and Song of Black Roderick" (1906). After marrying Clement King Shorter in 1895, she moved to London but continued to focus on Irish subjects. Her later work increasingly addressed grief, loss, and the tragedy of war, influenced by World War I. She is considered a significant though often overlooked figure in Irish poetry of the turn of the twentieth century.
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