But she says, "No"--the boat is laden with my gift and no room is left for
me.



18


The evening beckons, and I would fain follow the travellers who sailed in
the last ferry of the ebb-tide to cross the dark.

Some were for home, some for the farther shore, yet all have ventured to
sail.

But I sit alone at the landing, having left my home and missed the boat:
summer is gone and my winter harvest is lost.

I wait for that love which gathers failures to sow them in tears on the
dark, that they may bear fruit when day rises anew.



19


On this side of the water there is no landing; the girls do not come here
to fetch water; the land along its edge is shaggy with stunted shrubs; a
noisy flock of _saliks_ dig their nests in the steep bank under whose frown
the fisher-boats find no shelter.