Celia Thaxter

Seaside Goldenrod

GRACEFUL, tossing plume of glowing gold,
    Waving lonely on the rocky ledge;
Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,
    Clinging to the high cliff’s ragged edge;
 
Burning in the pure September sky,
    Spike of gold against the stainless blue,
Do you watch the vessels drifting by?
    Does the quiet day seem long to you?
 
Up to you I climb, O perfect shape!
    Poised so lightly 'twixt the sky and sea;
Looking o’er headland, crag, and cape,
    O’er the ocean’s vague immensity.
 
Up to you my human thought I bring,
    Sit me down your peaceful watch to share.
Do you hear the waves below us sing?
    Feel you the soft fanning of the air?
 
How much of life’s rapture is your right?
    In earth’s joy what may your portion be?
Rocked by breezes, touched by tender light,
    Fed by dews and sung to by the sea!
 
Something of delight and of content
    Must be yours, however vaguely known;
And your grace is mutely eloquent,
    And your beauty makes the rock a throne.
 
Matters not to you, O golden flower!
    That such eyes of worship watch you sway;
But you make more sweet the dreamful hour
    And you crown for me the tranquil day.
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