Celia Thaxter

Land-Locked

BLACK lie the hills; swiftly doth daylight flee;
    And, catching gleams of sunset’s dying smile,
    Through the dusk land for many a changing mile
The river runneth softly to the sea.
 
O happy river, could I follow thee!
    O yearning heart, that never can be still!
    O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
Longing for level line of solemn sea!
 
Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,
    Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
    All summer’s glory thine from morn till night,
And life too full of joy for uttered words.
 
Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream
    Deliciously how twilight falls to-night
    Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem
 
To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,
    To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
    And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low, —my name they speak!
 
O Earth! thy summer song of joy may soar
    Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
    The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.
Altre opere di Celia Thaxter...



Alto