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.
Celia Thaxter
3 comments:
Beautiful! Are you in Maine now?
Its been several years since I picked up Celia Thaxter's "An Island Garden"--I remember prose, but not poetry. A quick look through my bookcase didn't produce my copy, which means it is down on the shelves in the storage shed. I dream of a room with wall to wall bookshelves and everything I own in alphabetical order.
We never worked our way through the list of places I hoped to visit in New England and the Maritimes--that island was one of them.
Exquisite words and views.. perfect.
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