It is the old old vision,The moonlit sea—and you.I cannot make disseveranceBetween the two.For all the world's wide beautyTo me you seem,All that I love in shadowOr glow or gleam.It is the old old murmur,The sea's sound and your voice.God in his Bliss between themCould make no choice.For all the world's deep musicIn you I hear:Nor shall I ask death, ever,For aught more dear.
It is the old old vision,The moonlit sea—and you.I cannot make disseveranceBetween the two.For all the world's wide beautyTo me you seem,All that I love in shadowOr glow or gleam.
It is the old old murmur,The sea's sound and your voice.God in his Bliss between themCould make no choice.For all the world's deep musicIn you I hear:Nor shall I ask death, ever,For aught more dear.
Across the kindling twilight moonA late gull wings to rest.The sea is murmuring underneathIts vast eternal quest.The coast-light flashes over the tideA red and warning eye,And oh the world is very wide,But you are nigh!The stars come out from zone to zone,The wind knows every oneAnd blows their message to my heart,As it has ever done."They are all God's," it tells me, "all,However huge or high."But ah I could not trust its call—Were you not by!
Across the kindling twilight moonA late gull wings to rest.The sea is murmuring underneathIts vast eternal quest.The coast-light flashes over the tideA red and warning eye,And oh the world is very wide,But you are nigh!
The stars come out from zone to zone,The wind knows every oneAnd blows their message to my heart,As it has ever done."They are all God's," it tells me, "all,However huge or high."But ah I could not trust its call—Were you not by!
Not if I chose from a world of daysCould I find a day like this.The sky is a wreath of azure hazeAnd the sea an azure bliss.The surf runs racing the young salt wind,Shouting without a fearOver reef, bar, cliff and scaur,Where you and I lie near.O you and I who have watched the skyAnd sea from many a shore!You, love, and I who will live and die—And watch the sea no more!O joy of the world! Joy of love,Joy that can say to death,"Tho you end all with your wanton pall,We two have had this breath!"
Not if I chose from a world of daysCould I find a day like this.The sky is a wreath of azure hazeAnd the sea an azure bliss.The surf runs racing the young salt wind,Shouting without a fearOver reef, bar, cliff and scaur,Where you and I lie near.
O you and I who have watched the skyAnd sea from many a shore!You, love, and I who will live and die—And watch the sea no more!O joy of the world! Joy of love,Joy that can say to death,"Tho you end all with your wanton pall,We two have had this breath!"
As I hear, thro the midnight sighing,The low ebb-tide withdrawn,And gulls on the dark cliff cryingFor far discernless dawn,It seems that all life is lyingWithin your every breath,Yet I can not believe in dying,Or death.As I hear, from the gray church tower,The bell's unfailing soundPeal forth hour after hourTo night's lone reaches round,It seems as if Time's wan powerWould sear all things apace—All, save in my heart one flower,Your face.
As I hear, thro the midnight sighing,The low ebb-tide withdrawn,And gulls on the dark cliff cryingFor far discernless dawn,It seems that all life is lyingWithin your every breath,Yet I can not believe in dying,Or death.
As I hear, from the gray church tower,The bell's unfailing soundPeal forth hour after hourTo night's lone reaches round,It seems as if Time's wan powerWould sear all things apace—All, save in my heart one flower,Your face.
You are not with me—only the moon,The sea and the gulls' cry, out of tune;The myriad cry of the gulls still strewnOn the sands where the tide will enter soon.You are not with me, only the breathOf the wind—and then the wind's death.A shrouding silence then that saith,"Even as wind love vanisheth."You are not with me—only fear,As old as earth's first frenzied bierThat severed two whose hearts were near,And left one with all Life unclear.
You are not with me—only the moon,The sea and the gulls' cry, out of tune;The myriad cry of the gulls still strewnOn the sands where the tide will enter soon.
You are not with me, only the breathOf the wind—and then the wind's death.A shrouding silence then that saith,"Even as wind love vanisheth."
You are not with me—only fear,As old as earth's first frenzied bierThat severed two whose hearts were near,And left one with all Life unclear.
When we two walk, my love, on the pathThe moon makes over the sea,To the end of the world where sorrow hathAn end that is ecstasy,Should we not think of the other roadOf wearying dust and stoneOur feet would fare did each but careTo follow the way alone?When we two slip at night to the skiesAnd find one star that we keepAs a trysting-place to which our eyesMay lead our souls ere sleep,Should we not pause for a little spaceAnd think how many must sighBecause they gaze over starry waysWith no heart-comrade by?When we two then lie down to our dreamsThat deepen still the delightOf our wandering where stars and streamsStray in immortal light,Should we not grieve with the myriadsFrom East of earth to WestWho lay them down at night but to drownA longing for some loved breast?Ah, yes, for life has a thousand gifts,But love it is gives life.Who walks thro his world in loneness liftsA soul that is sorrow-rife.But they to whom it is given to treadThe moon-path and not sinkCan ever say the unhappiest wayEarth has is fair, to the brink.
When we two walk, my love, on the pathThe moon makes over the sea,To the end of the world where sorrow hathAn end that is ecstasy,Should we not think of the other roadOf wearying dust and stoneOur feet would fare did each but careTo follow the way alone?
When we two slip at night to the skiesAnd find one star that we keepAs a trysting-place to which our eyesMay lead our souls ere sleep,Should we not pause for a little spaceAnd think how many must sighBecause they gaze over starry waysWith no heart-comrade by?
When we two then lie down to our dreamsThat deepen still the delightOf our wandering where stars and streamsStray in immortal light,Should we not grieve with the myriadsFrom East of earth to WestWho lay them down at night but to drownA longing for some loved breast?
Ah, yes, for life has a thousand gifts,But love it is gives life.Who walks thro his world in loneness liftsA soul that is sorrow-rife.But they to whom it is given to treadThe moon-path and not sinkCan ever say the unhappiest wayEarth has is fair, to the brink.
A shoal-light flashes east,And livid lightning west,The silvery dark night-sea between,On which we ride at rest,And gaze far, far awayInto the fretless skies,World-sadness in our thought—but ah,Content within our eyes.The ship's bell strikes—the soundFloats shrouded to our ears,Then suddenly, as at a touch,The universe appearsA Presence InfiniteThat penetrates our loveAnd makes us one with night and seaAnd all the stars above.
A shoal-light flashes east,And livid lightning west,The silvery dark night-sea between,On which we ride at rest,And gaze far, far awayInto the fretless skies,World-sadness in our thought—but ah,Content within our eyes.
The ship's bell strikes—the soundFloats shrouded to our ears,Then suddenly, as at a touch,The universe appearsA Presence InfiniteThat penetrates our loveAnd makes us one with night and seaAnd all the stars above.
On the green floor of the Gulf the wind is walking,Printing it with invisible feet;The tide is talking.Purple and grey the horizon walls them roundWith purpler clouds.They wander in it like guests gently astrayIn a house deep mystery shrouds.I do not know the speech of the tide,For too articulate have become my years:Beauty brings only words, not breathless tears.So the young heron fishing there in the foamOn the sand's edge,Would once have taken my spirit far, far homeTo the infinite, when he vanished thro the gloam.But now I am left behind on the beach—a shellThat no more knows the wonder of the sea's swell,Or more than the empty echo of its knell.To sea then, Life, wildly to sea with a stormSweep me again,From the smooth dull beach of custom where I lie,That I may feel once moreThe swaying surge of passion thro me swarm!
On the green floor of the Gulf the wind is walking,Printing it with invisible feet;The tide is talking.
Purple and grey the horizon walls them roundWith purpler clouds.They wander in it like guests gently astrayIn a house deep mystery shrouds.
I do not know the speech of the tide,For too articulate have become my years:Beauty brings only words, not breathless tears.
So the young heron fishing there in the foamOn the sand's edge,Would once have taken my spirit far, far homeTo the infinite, when he vanished thro the gloam.
But now I am left behind on the beach—a shellThat no more knows the wonder of the sea's swell,Or more than the empty echo of its knell.
To sea then, Life, wildly to sea with a stormSweep me again,From the smooth dull beach of custom where I lie,That I may feel once moreThe swaying surge of passion thro me swarm!
IBehind me lie the Everglades,The mystic grassy Everglades,Where the moccasin and the Seminole glideIn secret silent Indian ways.Before me lies the Gulf,The cup of blue bright tropic waters,Held to the parched lips of the SouthTo cool and quench its thirst.Behind me lie the Everglades,Before me lies the Gulf,Which the sunset soon shall change to wine,A Eucharist for the longing soul.Its rim of land shall be transformedTo Mexic opal and chrysoprase,And then shall come the moonAs calm as a thought of Christ.As calm as a thought of Christ—Over the cup's sand-rim enchasedWith palm and pine, Floridian friends,Saying their twilight litanies;While homeward flies the heronTo his island cypress in the swamp,Which Spanish mosses drape and the moonSilverly soothes to peace.IIBehind me lie the Everglades,Where the bittern wails to the moon's face.Peace is gone as I wakeAnd memory in me wailsFrom the primal swamp, Heredity,Whence I have come with all the desiresOf creeping, walking, flying things,To creep or walk or fly.With all the desires of the earth-creatures;Yet with a want transcendent,A want that comes with the glimmer of starsAnd pierces to my heart.A want of the life I have not known,Of the life unknowable,In the Everglades of the UniverseWhere the Great Spirit glides.
I
Behind me lie the Everglades,The mystic grassy Everglades,Where the moccasin and the Seminole glideIn secret silent Indian ways.Before me lies the Gulf,The cup of blue bright tropic waters,Held to the parched lips of the SouthTo cool and quench its thirst.
Behind me lie the Everglades,Before me lies the Gulf,Which the sunset soon shall change to wine,A Eucharist for the longing soul.Its rim of land shall be transformedTo Mexic opal and chrysoprase,And then shall come the moonAs calm as a thought of Christ.
As calm as a thought of Christ—Over the cup's sand-rim enchasedWith palm and pine, Floridian friends,Saying their twilight litanies;While homeward flies the heronTo his island cypress in the swamp,Which Spanish mosses drape and the moonSilverly soothes to peace.
II
Behind me lie the Everglades,Where the bittern wails to the moon's face.Peace is gone as I wakeAnd memory in me wailsFrom the primal swamp, Heredity,Whence I have come with all the desiresOf creeping, walking, flying things,To creep or walk or fly.
With all the desires of the earth-creatures;Yet with a want transcendent,A want that comes with the glimmer of starsAnd pierces to my heart.A want of the life I have not known,Of the life unknowable,In the Everglades of the UniverseWhere the Great Spirit glides.
Down thro Florida keys,From island, to island!Down thro Florida keys,Where mangrove roots dip in the seas!A myriad tangled rootsFrom each palmetto byland,Oyster-encrusted roots mid whichThe heron wades in the shallow shades!Down thro Florida keys,Around them, between them,Thro low green Florida keys,So low they scarce seem born of the seas!Where pouchy pelicans roostOn cypresses that lean themOut over the idle lap of the tideThat comes and goes with balmy flows!Down thro Florida keys,Thro mazes on mazesOf ripple-encircled keys,Where sun and wind play as they please!Where the eaglet, high in air,Or the wild white ibis, dazesEyes that follow them up the blue,As the heart would do, the heart too!Down thro Florida keysI'm going, I'm going!Thro low green Florida keysAnd greener glades of Florida seas!And this is all I know,That all in the world worth knowingIs joy like that of the tarpon's leapIn air divine with the warm sunshine!
Down thro Florida keys,From island, to island!Down thro Florida keys,Where mangrove roots dip in the seas!A myriad tangled rootsFrom each palmetto byland,Oyster-encrusted roots mid whichThe heron wades in the shallow shades!
Down thro Florida keys,Around them, between them,Thro low green Florida keys,So low they scarce seem born of the seas!Where pouchy pelicans roostOn cypresses that lean themOut over the idle lap of the tideThat comes and goes with balmy flows!
Down thro Florida keys,Thro mazes on mazesOf ripple-encircled keys,Where sun and wind play as they please!Where the eaglet, high in air,Or the wild white ibis, dazesEyes that follow them up the blue,As the heart would do, the heart too!
Down thro Florida keysI'm going, I'm going!Thro low green Florida keysAnd greener glades of Florida seas!And this is all I know,That all in the world worth knowingIs joy like that of the tarpon's leapIn air divine with the warm sunshine!
I went out at dawn,Pelicans were fishing,Big-beaked, grey and brown;Little waves were swishing.Clouds creamed the sky,As shells creamed the shore;Wild aery hues of beautyRound seemed to pour!I went out at dawn,Pelicans were floating,Big beaks on their breasts;Up the sun came boating."Ship ahoy!" I cried,To his golden sail.Bliss-winds of beauty in meBroke—to a gale!I went out at dawn,Pelicans were winging.Palms waved passion plumes,Beach sands were singing.Stripped, save of strength,I plunged into the seaAnd swam, till the bliss of beautyDied away in me.
I went out at dawn,Pelicans were fishing,Big-beaked, grey and brown;Little waves were swishing.Clouds creamed the sky,As shells creamed the shore;Wild aery hues of beautyRound seemed to pour!
I went out at dawn,Pelicans were floating,Big beaks on their breasts;Up the sun came boating."Ship ahoy!" I cried,To his golden sail.Bliss-winds of beauty in meBroke—to a gale!
I went out at dawn,Pelicans were winging.Palms waved passion plumes,Beach sands were singing.Stripped, save of strength,I plunged into the seaAnd swam, till the bliss of beautyDied away in me.
I leant out over a ledging cliff and looked down into the sea,Where weed and kelp and dulse swayed, in green translucency;Where the abalone clung to the rock and the star-fish lay about,Purpling the sands that slid away under the silver trout.And the sea-urchin too was there, and the sea-anemone.It was a world of watery shapes and hues and wizardry.And I felt old stirrings wake in me, under the tides of time,Sea-hauntings I had brought with me out of the ancient slime.And now, as I muse, I cannot rid my senses of the spellThat in a tidal trance all things around me drift and swellUnder the sea of the Universe, down into which strange eyesKeep peering at me, as I peered, with wonder and surmise.
I leant out over a ledging cliff and looked down into the sea,Where weed and kelp and dulse swayed, in green translucency;Where the abalone clung to the rock and the star-fish lay about,Purpling the sands that slid away under the silver trout.
And the sea-urchin too was there, and the sea-anemone.It was a world of watery shapes and hues and wizardry.And I felt old stirrings wake in me, under the tides of time,Sea-hauntings I had brought with me out of the ancient slime.
And now, as I muse, I cannot rid my senses of the spellThat in a tidal trance all things around me drift and swellUnder the sea of the Universe, down into which strange eyesKeep peering at me, as I peered, with wonder and surmise.
Two years have gone, and again I standOn the bow of a mighty shipThat pushes her way 'twixt sea and starsWith soft and dreamy dip.Two years of labouring, heart and hand,Of waging spirit-wars,Of wondering ever what life is—And if death heals its scars.Two years; and again the mast-bell soundsAbove me—with a low voice,As ghostly as the white phosphor-foamThat breaks with the old noiseOf waters that have washed all boundsOf earth, that is man's home—His ark—on the wide ether flung,Unrestingly to roam.For, even as we, is this our earthAn endless wandererFar down a universe with vastStrange voyagings astir;And where time ever brings to birthA craving, never past,To fare from where we are, to whereNo anchor ever was cast.A craving—in the mote, the man,The mollusc and the star;A yearning on—O life! O life!How far leads it, how far?All unbelievably beganOur voyage, mid a strange strife—That, meaningless, yet seems to meanIt is with Wisdom rife.But if it is not, shall we say,"Let man scuttle his ship,And drown in universal deathThe griefs that at him grip?"No; for no surety rests thereinTo certain end of breath.He can but let hope set the courseHis soul foretokeneth.
Two years have gone, and again I standOn the bow of a mighty shipThat pushes her way 'twixt sea and starsWith soft and dreamy dip.Two years of labouring, heart and hand,Of waging spirit-wars,Of wondering ever what life is—And if death heals its scars.
Two years; and again the mast-bell soundsAbove me—with a low voice,As ghostly as the white phosphor-foamThat breaks with the old noiseOf waters that have washed all boundsOf earth, that is man's home—His ark—on the wide ether flung,Unrestingly to roam.
For, even as we, is this our earthAn endless wandererFar down a universe with vastStrange voyagings astir;And where time ever brings to birthA craving, never past,To fare from where we are, to whereNo anchor ever was cast.
A craving—in the mote, the man,The mollusc and the star;A yearning on—O life! O life!How far leads it, how far?All unbelievably beganOur voyage, mid a strange strife—That, meaningless, yet seems to meanIt is with Wisdom rife.
But if it is not, shall we say,"Let man scuttle his ship,And drown in universal deathThe griefs that at him grip?"No; for no surety rests thereinTo certain end of breath.He can but let hope set the courseHis soul foretokeneth.
Take care, O wisp of a moon,Vague on the sunny blue above the sea,Or the gull flying across youWill pierce your veil-thin shape with a sharp wing!Take care, or the wind will wilt you,As he does the clouds snowily drifting by you,And diffuse you over the sky, a silvery mist,To give more cool to the day!Take care, so near the horizon,Or a phantom skipper, one who has long been drowned,Will reach above it and seize youAnd make you his sail to circle the world forever!Take care, take care! for frailtyIs the prey of the strong, and you, a wraith of it,Have yet a long while to go before nightfallBrings you to sure effulgence!
Take care, O wisp of a moon,Vague on the sunny blue above the sea,Or the gull flying across youWill pierce your veil-thin shape with a sharp wing!
Take care, or the wind will wilt you,As he does the clouds snowily drifting by you,And diffuse you over the sky, a silvery mist,To give more cool to the day!
Take care, so near the horizon,Or a phantom skipper, one who has long been drowned,Will reach above it and seize youAnd make you his sail to circle the world forever!
Take care, take care! for frailtyIs the prey of the strong, and you, a wraith of it,Have yet a long while to go before nightfallBrings you to sure effulgence!
Crushing in my handThe bay as I pass,Drinking in its fragranceWith the sea's scent,While gull-wings writePoems white and fastOn the blue skyThat is soft with content;Crushing in my handThe bay and the juniper,While I recordEach line the gulls write,I go by sea pathsDown to the sea's edge,I go by heart pathsDeep into delight.Simple is my joyAs the little sandpiper's,Who follows beside meWith silvery song;Blither than the breeze,That skims great billowsNor knows how deepIs their flow—or strong.Simple is my joy,A sunny sense-sweetness,Full of bird-bliss,Bay-warmth, spray-leap.Mysteries there areAnd miseries beneath it,But sunk, like wrecks,Far down in the deep.
Crushing in my handThe bay as I pass,Drinking in its fragranceWith the sea's scent,While gull-wings writePoems white and fastOn the blue skyThat is soft with content;Crushing in my handThe bay and the juniper,While I recordEach line the gulls write,I go by sea pathsDown to the sea's edge,I go by heart pathsDeep into delight.
Simple is my joyAs the little sandpiper's,Who follows beside meWith silvery song;Blither than the breeze,That skims great billowsNor knows how deepIs their flow—or strong.Simple is my joy,A sunny sense-sweetness,Full of bird-bliss,Bay-warmth, spray-leap.Mysteries there areAnd miseries beneath it,But sunk, like wrecks,Far down in the deep.
Is it because for a million yearsThe tide has entered hereFrom cold north seasWhere ice-floes freezeThat ever unto my earPrimordial loneness in its voiceComes telling of that timeWhen life was not, upon the earth,But only glacier-rime?Is it because these granite rocksI share with weed and scurfWere held so longBy the ice-throngThat now they take the surfSo selflessly and soullessly,As if God's ImmanenceHad been pressed from them, never moreTo enter, with sweet sense?And is it because I, too, evolvedFrom ice and sea and shore,Can understandHow life has spannedThe lifeless ages o'er,That as I sit here, suddenlyThe tide again seems stilledAnd earth beneath a great white pallAgain lies changed and chilled?So it must be—ah, so; for softWithin my muted brainThe heritageOf age on ageReverberates again.Wherefore when glacial Silence comesWith Death shall I emergeFrom that as from the frozen Past,Under Life's endless urge?
Is it because for a million yearsThe tide has entered hereFrom cold north seasWhere ice-floes freezeThat ever unto my earPrimordial loneness in its voiceComes telling of that timeWhen life was not, upon the earth,But only glacier-rime?
Is it because these granite rocksI share with weed and scurfWere held so longBy the ice-throngThat now they take the surfSo selflessly and soullessly,As if God's ImmanenceHad been pressed from them, never moreTo enter, with sweet sense?
And is it because I, too, evolvedFrom ice and sea and shore,Can understandHow life has spannedThe lifeless ages o'er,That as I sit here, suddenlyThe tide again seems stilledAnd earth beneath a great white pallAgain lies changed and chilled?
So it must be—ah, so; for softWithin my muted brainThe heritageOf age on ageReverberates again.Wherefore when glacial Silence comesWith Death shall I emergeFrom that as from the frozen Past,Under Life's endless urge?
A dark sail,Like a wild-goose wing,Where the sunset was.The moon soon will silver its sinewy flightThro the night watches,And the far flightOf those immortal migrants,The ever-returning stars.
A dark sail,Like a wild-goose wing,Where the sunset was.The moon soon will silver its sinewy flightThro the night watches,And the far flightOf those immortal migrants,The ever-returning stars.
The long line of the foaming coastIs muffled by the fog's gray ghost.I cross the league of sea betweenAnd lift the latch and kiss Aleen.She throws a log upon the fire.I draw her to me, nigh and nigher.She does not know what a brief timeAgo it was my arms held—crime.The surf is beating on the shore.We hear our own heart-beatings more.She speaks ofhimand my replyIs silence: does she wonder why?"I do not love him: have no fear,"Her whisper is, against my ear.At last, "I have no fear," say I.She starts, as at a wild-beast's cry.And then she sees red on my coat.A still-born cry throbs in her throat.The fog sweeps by the window pane.Her sight is fixed on one dull stain.I rise and light my pipe and go,Leaving her standing, staring so.The wind means storm, I think, to-night:But more than that will make her white.And yet had it been yesterdayShe said those words, I still could pray.There would be still a God above—For two, now overwhelmed, to love!
The long line of the foaming coastIs muffled by the fog's gray ghost.I cross the league of sea betweenAnd lift the latch and kiss Aleen.
She throws a log upon the fire.I draw her to me, nigh and nigher.She does not know what a brief timeAgo it was my arms held—crime.
The surf is beating on the shore.We hear our own heart-beatings more.She speaks ofhimand my replyIs silence: does she wonder why?
"I do not love him: have no fear,"Her whisper is, against my ear.At last, "I have no fear," say I.She starts, as at a wild-beast's cry.
And then she sees red on my coat.A still-born cry throbs in her throat.The fog sweeps by the window pane.Her sight is fixed on one dull stain.
I rise and light my pipe and go,Leaving her standing, staring so.The wind means storm, I think, to-night:But more than that will make her white.
And yet had it been yesterdayShe said those words, I still could pray.There would be still a God above—For two, now overwhelmed, to love!
Lone white gull with sickle wings,You reap for the heart inscrutable things:Sorrow of mists and surf of the shore,Winds that sigh of the nevermore;Fret of foam and flurry of rain,Swept far over the troubled tide;Maths of mystery and grey painThe sea's voice ever yields, beside.Lone white gull, you reap for the heartLife's most sad and inscrutable part.
Lone white gull with sickle wings,You reap for the heart inscrutable things:Sorrow of mists and surf of the shore,Winds that sigh of the nevermore;Fret of foam and flurry of rain,Swept far over the troubled tide;Maths of mystery and grey painThe sea's voice ever yields, beside.Lone white gull, you reap for the heartLife's most sad and inscrutable part.
The little song-sparrow is goneAnd the summer is nearly ended,The rill of his song was a happy riftIn the surging sound of the sea.The swallow is lingering on,And the silvery swift sandpiper,And I—tho I know my saddened heartHas lost an ineffable thing,That summer no more can bring.With the first bay-leaves that flungTheir scent to me by the billows,I twined some faith, some trust,As glad as the sparrow's song.And the terns that darted amongThe tides seemed weaving for meImpalpable wings of peace and hope—That now have taken flightBeyond the day and the night.Ah, Life, you have known my pleaFor sun and the tide of fortune,For winds to waken my sail and bearMe joyously over the world.Know too how much of your fogAnd storm and rain I will suffer,If only you do not sweep from meThe dear ineffable things,To which your fragrance clings.
The little song-sparrow is goneAnd the summer is nearly ended,The rill of his song was a happy riftIn the surging sound of the sea.The swallow is lingering on,And the silvery swift sandpiper,And I—tho I know my saddened heartHas lost an ineffable thing,That summer no more can bring.
With the first bay-leaves that flungTheir scent to me by the billows,I twined some faith, some trust,As glad as the sparrow's song.And the terns that darted amongThe tides seemed weaving for meImpalpable wings of peace and hope—That now have taken flightBeyond the day and the night.
Ah, Life, you have known my pleaFor sun and the tide of fortune,For winds to waken my sail and bearMe joyously over the world.Know too how much of your fogAnd storm and rain I will suffer,If only you do not sweep from meThe dear ineffable things,To which your fragrance clings.
Many are on the sea to-dayWith all sails set.The tide rolls in a restive gray,The wind blows wet.The gull is weary of his wings,And I am weary of all things.Heavy upon me longing lies,My sad eyes gazeAcross sad leagues that sink and riseAnd sink always.My life has sunk and risen so,I'd have it cease awhile to flow.
Many are on the sea to-dayWith all sails set.The tide rolls in a restive gray,The wind blows wet.The gull is weary of his wings,And I am weary of all things.
Heavy upon me longing lies,My sad eyes gazeAcross sad leagues that sink and riseAnd sink always.My life has sunk and risen so,I'd have it cease awhile to flow.
The evening sails come homeWith twilight in their wings.The harbour-light across the gloamSprings;The wind sings.The waves begin to tellThe sea's night-sorrow o'er,Weaving within their ancient spellMoreThan earth's lore.The rising moon wafts strangeLow lures across the tide,On which my dim thoughts seem to range,StrideUpon stride,Until, with flooding thrill,They seem at last to blendWith waves that from the Eternal WillWend,Without end.
The evening sails come homeWith twilight in their wings.The harbour-light across the gloamSprings;The wind sings.
The waves begin to tellThe sea's night-sorrow o'er,Weaving within their ancient spellMoreThan earth's lore.
The rising moon wafts strangeLow lures across the tide,On which my dim thoughts seem to range,StrideUpon stride,
Until, with flooding thrill,They seem at last to blendWith waves that from the Eternal WillWend,Without end.
All day long in the spindrift swinging,Bird of the sea! bird of the sea!How I would that I had thy winging—How I envy thee!How I would that I had thy spirit,So to careen, joyous to cry,Over the storm and never fear it!Into the night that hovers near it!Calm on a reeling sky!All day long, and the night, unresting!Ah! I believe thy every breathMeans that life's best comes ever breastingPeril and pain and death!
All day long in the spindrift swinging,Bird of the sea! bird of the sea!How I would that I had thy winging—How I envy thee!
How I would that I had thy spirit,So to careen, joyous to cry,Over the storm and never fear it!Into the night that hovers near it!Calm on a reeling sky!
All day long, and the night, unresting!Ah! I believe thy every breathMeans that life's best comes ever breastingPeril and pain and death!
You know that rock on a rocky coast,Where the moon came up, a ruined ghost,Distorted until her shape almostSeemed breaking?Came up like a phantom silentlyAnd dropped her shroud on the red night sea,Then walked, a spectral mystery,Unwaking?You know how, sudden, there came a change,When she had left the sea's low range,Its lurid crimson, stark and strange,Behind her?How, sudden, her silver self shone thro,Tranquilly free of the earth's stained hue,And found a way where the clouds were fewTo bind her?You know this? Then go back some day,When I have gone the moonless way,To that dark rock whereon we layAnd waited;And when the moon has arisen free,Your soiling doubt shall fall from me,And eased of unrest your heart shall be,And sated.
You know that rock on a rocky coast,Where the moon came up, a ruined ghost,Distorted until her shape almostSeemed breaking?Came up like a phantom silentlyAnd dropped her shroud on the red night sea,Then walked, a spectral mystery,Unwaking?
You know how, sudden, there came a change,When she had left the sea's low range,Its lurid crimson, stark and strange,Behind her?How, sudden, her silver self shone thro,Tranquilly free of the earth's stained hue,And found a way where the clouds were fewTo bind her?
You know this? Then go back some day,When I have gone the moonless way,To that dark rock whereon we layAnd waited;And when the moon has arisen free,Your soiling doubt shall fall from me,And eased of unrest your heart shall be,And sated.
Do you remember Etajima,And how, upon a moon-fogged sea,As ghostly as ever a tide shall be,We passed an island silently?And how a low voice in the gloomOf the temple pine-trees leaning thereSaidsayonarato one somewhereUnseen in the shadow-haunted air?Justsayonara: but it seemedThe soul of all farewells that night,The sigh of all withdrawn delight,The sound of love's last rapture-rite.And now, after long years, it comesAgain from isles of memoryTo bring once more to birth in meThe breath of all lost witchery.Yes, one low word of parting, nowEchoing, thro the fog of years,Has touched my heart with beauty's tears,And youth thro all things reappears.
Do you remember Etajima,And how, upon a moon-fogged sea,As ghostly as ever a tide shall be,We passed an island silently?
And how a low voice in the gloomOf the temple pine-trees leaning thereSaidsayonarato one somewhereUnseen in the shadow-haunted air?
Justsayonara: but it seemedThe soul of all farewells that night,The sigh of all withdrawn delight,The sound of love's last rapture-rite.
And now, after long years, it comesAgain from isles of memoryTo bring once more to birth in meThe breath of all lost witchery.
Yes, one low word of parting, nowEchoing, thro the fog of years,Has touched my heart with beauty's tears,And youth thro all things reappears.
Never again, never againDid I hope to breathe such joy!The sea is blue and the winds hallooUp to the sun "Ahoy!""Ahoy!" they shout and the mists they routFrom the mountain-tops go streamingIn happy play where the gulls sway,And a million waves are gleaming!And every wave, billowing brave,Is tipped with a wild delight.A garden of isles around me smiles,Bathed in the blue noon light,The rude brown bunk of the fishing junkSeems fair as a sea-king's palace:O wine of the sky the gods have spiltOut of its crystal chalice!For wine is the wind, wine the sea,Wine for the sinking spirit,To lift it up from the cling of clayInto high Bliss—or near it!So let me drink till I cease to think,And know with a sting of raptureThat joy is yet as wide as the worldFor men, at last, to capture!
Never again, never againDid I hope to breathe such joy!The sea is blue and the winds hallooUp to the sun "Ahoy!""Ahoy!" they shout and the mists they routFrom the mountain-tops go streamingIn happy play where the gulls sway,And a million waves are gleaming!
And every wave, billowing brave,Is tipped with a wild delight.A garden of isles around me smiles,Bathed in the blue noon light,The rude brown bunk of the fishing junkSeems fair as a sea-king's palace:O wine of the sky the gods have spiltOut of its crystal chalice!
For wine is the wind, wine the sea,Wine for the sinking spirit,To lift it up from the cling of clayInto high Bliss—or near it!So let me drink till I cease to think,And know with a sting of raptureThat joy is yet as wide as the worldFor men, at last, to capture!
All the ships of the world come here,Rest a little, then set to sea;Some ride up to the waiting pier,Some drop anchor beyond the quay.Some have funnels of blue and black,(Some come once but come not back!)Some have funnels of red and yellow,Some—O war!—have funnels of gray.All the ships of the world come here,Ships from every billow's foam;Fruiter and oiler, pirateer,Liner and lugger and tramp a-roam.Some are scented of palm and pine,(Some are fain for the Pole's far clime).Some are scented of soy and senna,Some—ah me!—are scented of home.All the ships of the world come here,Day and night there is sound of bells,Seeking the port they calmly steer,Clearing the port they ring farewells.Under the sun or under the stars(Under the light of swaying spars),Under the moon or under morningDo they swing, as the tide swells.All the ships of the world come here,Rest a little and then are gone,Over the crystal planet-sphereSwept, thro every season, on.Swept to every cape and isle(Every coast of cloud or smile),Swept till over them sweeps the sorrowOf their last sea-dawn.
All the ships of the world come here,Rest a little, then set to sea;Some ride up to the waiting pier,Some drop anchor beyond the quay.Some have funnels of blue and black,(Some come once but come not back!)Some have funnels of red and yellow,Some—O war!—have funnels of gray.
All the ships of the world come here,Ships from every billow's foam;Fruiter and oiler, pirateer,Liner and lugger and tramp a-roam.Some are scented of palm and pine,(Some are fain for the Pole's far clime).Some are scented of soy and senna,Some—ah me!—are scented of home.
All the ships of the world come here,Day and night there is sound of bells,Seeking the port they calmly steer,Clearing the port they ring farewells.Under the sun or under the stars(Under the light of swaying spars),Under the moon or under morningDo they swing, as the tide swells.
All the ships of the world come here,Rest a little and then are gone,Over the crystal planet-sphereSwept, thro every season, on.Swept to every cape and isle(Every coast of cloud or smile),Swept till over them sweeps the sorrowOf their last sea-dawn.
Far out to sea go the fishing junks,With all sails set,The tide swings gray and the clouds sway,The wind blows wet;Blows wet from the long coast lying dimAs if mist-born.Far out they sail, as the stars pale,The stars of morn.Far out to sea go the fishing junks,And I who passUpon a deck that is vaster reckNo more, alas,Of all their life, or they of mine,Than comes to this,—That under the sky we live and die,Like all that is.
Far out to sea go the fishing junks,With all sails set,The tide swings gray and the clouds sway,The wind blows wet;Blows wet from the long coast lying dimAs if mist-born.Far out they sail, as the stars pale,The stars of morn.
Far out to sea go the fishing junks,And I who passUpon a deck that is vaster reckNo more, alas,Of all their life, or they of mine,Than comes to this,—That under the sky we live and die,Like all that is.
When I return to the world again,The world of fret and fight,To grapple with godless things and men,In battle, wrong or right,I will remember this—the sea,And the white stars hanging high,And the vessel's bowWhere calmly nowI gaze to the boundless sky.When I am deaf with the din of strife,And blind amid despair,When I am choked with the dust of lifeAnd long for free soul-air,I will recall this sound—the sea's,And the wide horizon's hope,And the wind that blowsAnd the phosphor snowsThat fall as the cleft waves ope.When I am beaten—when I fallOn the bed of black defeat,When I have hungered, and in gallHave got but shame to eat,I will remember this—the sea,And its tide as soft as sleep,And the clear night skyThat heals for ayeAll who will trust its Deep.
When I return to the world again,The world of fret and fight,To grapple with godless things and men,In battle, wrong or right,I will remember this—the sea,And the white stars hanging high,And the vessel's bowWhere calmly nowI gaze to the boundless sky.
When I am deaf with the din of strife,And blind amid despair,When I am choked with the dust of lifeAnd long for free soul-air,I will recall this sound—the sea's,And the wide horizon's hope,And the wind that blowsAnd the phosphor snowsThat fall as the cleft waves ope.
When I am beaten—when I fallOn the bed of black defeat,When I have hungered, and in gallHave got but shame to eat,I will remember this—the sea,And its tide as soft as sleep,And the clear night skyThat heals for ayeAll who will trust its Deep.