There may the spirits of sea-birds be free —

  ’Tis noon, for the gulls are away.

  III

  Over the rim of the sunset is blown

  Sea-dusk of purple and gold,

  Speed now the wanderers back to their own,

  Wings the most tireless must fold.

  Homeward together at twilight they flock,

  Sated with joys of the deep,

  Drowsily huddled on headland and rock —

  Tis night, for the gulls are asleep.

  SUNRISE ALONG SHORE

  Athwart the harbor lingers yet

  The ashen gleam of breaking day,

  And where the guardian cliffs are set

  The noiseless shadows steal away;

  But all the winnowed eastern sky

  Is flushed with many a tender hue,

  And spears of light are smiting through

  The ranks where huddled sea-mists fly.

  Across the ocean, wan and gray,

  Gay fleets of golden ripples come,

  For at the birth-hour of the day

  The roistering, wayward winds are dumb.

  The rocks that stretch to meet the tide

  Are smitten with a ruddy glow,

  And faint reflections come and go

  Where fishing boats at anchor ride.

  All life leaps out to greet the light —

  The shining sea-gulls dive and soar,

  The swallows whirl in dizzy flight,

  And sandpeeps flit along the shore.

  From every purple landward hill

  The banners of the morning fly,

  But on the headlands, dim and high,

  The fishing hamlets slumber still.

  One boat alone beyond the bar

  Is sailing outward blithe and free,

  To carry sturdy hearts afar

  Across those wastes of sparkling sea;

  Staunchly to seek what may be won

  From out the treasures of the deep,

  To toil for those at home who sleep

  And be the first to greet the sun.

  THE SEA SPIRIT

  I smile o’er the wrinkled blue —

  Lo! the sea is fair,

  Smooth as the flow of a maiden’s hair;

  And the welkin’s light shines through

  Into mid-sea caverns of beryl hue,

  And the little waves laugh and the mermaids sing,

  And the sea is a beautiful, sinuous thing!

  I scowl in sullen guise —

  The sea grows dark and dun,

  The swift clouds hide the sun

  But not the bale-light in my eyes,

  And the frightened wind as it flies

  Ruffles the billows with stormy wing,

  And the sea is a terrible, treacherous thing!

  When moonlight glimmers dim

  I pass in the path of the mist,

  Like a pale spirit by spirits kissed.

  At dawn I chant my own weird hymn,

  And I dabble my hair in the sunset’s rim,

  And I call to the dwellers along the shore

  With a voice of gramarye evermore.

  And if one for love of me

  Gives to my call an ear,

  I will woo him and hold him dear,

  And teach him the way of the sea,

  And my glamor shall ever over him be;

  Though he wander afar in the cities of men

  He will come at last to my arms again.

  HARBOR DAWN

  There’s a hush and stillness calm and deep,

  For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep

  In the shadow of headlands bold and steep;

  But some gracious spirit has taken the cup

  Of the crystal sky and filled it up

  With rosy wine, and in it afar

  Has dissolved the pearl of the morning star.

  The girdling hills with the night-mist cold

  In purple raiment are hooded and stoled

  And smit on the brows with fire and gold;

  And in the distance the wide, white sea

  Is a thing of glamor and wizardry,

  With its wild heart lulled to a passing rest,

  And the sunrise cradled upon its breast.

  With the first red sunlight on mast and spar

  A ship is sailing beyond the bar,

  Bound to a land that is fair and far;

  And those who wait and those who go

  Are brave and hopeful, for well they know

  Fortune and favor the ship shall win

  That crosses the bar when the dawn comes in.

  MY LONGSHORE LASS

  Far in the mellow western sky,

  Above the restless harbor bar,

  A beacon on the coast of night,

  Shines out a calm, white evening star;

  But your deep eyes, my ‘longshore lass,

  Are brighter, clearer far.

  The glory of the sunset past

  Still gleams upon the water there,

  But all its splendor cannot match

  The wind-blown brightness of your hair;

  Not any sea-maid’s floating locks

  Of gold are half so fair.

  The waves are whispering to the sands

  With murmurs as of elfin glee;

  But your low laughter, ‘longshore lass,

  Is like a sea-harp’s melody,

  And the vibrant tones of your tender voice

  Are sweeter far to me.

  WHEN THE FISHING BOATS GO OUT

  When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,

  And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,

  And o’er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.

  There’s joyance and there’s freedom when the fishing boats go out.

  The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted caves,

  And sending sparkling kisses o’er the brows of virgin waves,

  While routed dawn-mists shiver — oh, far and fast they flee,

  Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea!

  Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor lie,

  Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky —

  Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled afar

  As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the harbor bar.

  The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free,

  There’s keenest rapture on its breast and boundless liberty!

  Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out-blown,

  And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his own.

  Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows the breeze,

  And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the combing seas,

  Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea-gulls float,

  And all the water-world’s alive when the fishing boats go out.

  THE BRIDAL

  Last night a pale young Moon was wed

  Unto the amorous, eager Sea;

  Her maiden veil of mist she wore

  His kingly purple vesture, he.

  With her a bridal train of stars

  Walked sisterly through shadows dim,

  And, master minstrel of the world,

  The great Wind sang the marriage hymn.

  Thus came she down the silent sky

  Unto the Sea her faith to plight,

  And the grave priest who wedded them

  Was ancient, sombre-mantled Night.

  THE SEA TO THE SHORE

  Lo, I have loved thee long, long have I yearned and entreated!

  Tell me how I may win thee, tell me how I must woo.

  Shall I creep to thy white feet, in guise of a humble lover?

  Shall I croon in mild petition, murmuring vows anew?

  Shall I stretch my arms unto thee, biding thy maiden coyness,

  Under the silver of morning, under the purple of night?

  Taming my ancient rudeness, checking my heady clamor —

  Thus, is it thus I must woo thee, oh, my delight?

  Nay, ’tis no way of the sea thus to be meekly suitor —

  I shall storm thee away with laughter wrapped in my beard of snow,

  With the wildest of billows for chords I shall harp thee a song for

  thy bridal,

  A mighty lyric of love that feared not nor would forego!

  With a red-gold wedding ring, mined from the caves of sunset,

  Fast shall I bind thy faith to my faith evermore,

  And the stars will wait on our pleasure, the great north wind will

  trumpet

  A thunderous marriage march for the nuptials of sea and shore.

  THE VOYAGERS

  We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim

  primrose shore,

  We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and enchanted coasts

  before,

  Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost Atlantis

  lies,

  And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in the amber

  skies.

  The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon-fair,

  And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her night-black

  hair;

  We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking and luring

  face,

  And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, wind-winnowed

  space.

  But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph’s sorceries,

  It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold of Hesperides,

  Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps time to our

  pulses’ swing,

  And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral crimsoning.

  And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we shall reach the fairy

  isle

  Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the to-morrows smile;

  With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail on our ancient

  quest,

  And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the thing he loves

  the best.

  SONGS OF THE HILLS AND WOODS

  TWILIGHT AND I WENT HAND IN HAND

  Twilight and I went hand in hand,

  As lovers walk in shining Mays,

  O’er musky, memory-haunted ways,

  Across a lonely harvest-land,

  Where west winds chanted in the wheat

  An old, old vesper wondrous sweet.

  Oh, Twilight was a comrade rare

  For gypsy heath or templed grove,

  In her gray vesture, shadow-wove;

  I saw the darkness of her hair

  Faint-mirrored in a field-pool dim,

  As we stood tip-toe on its rim.

  We went as lightly as on wings

  Through many a scented chamber fair,

  Among the pines and balsams, where

  I could have dreamed of darling things,

  And ever as we went I knew

  The peeping fairy folk went too.

  I could have lingered now and then

  By gates of moonrise that might lead

  To some forgotten, spiceried mead,

  Or in some mossy, cloistered glen,

  Where silence, very still and deep,

  Seemed fallen in enchanted sleep.

  But Twilight ever led me on,

  As lovers walk, until we came

  To hills where sunset’s shaken flame

  Had paled to ashes dead and wan;

  And there, with footsteps stolen-light

  She left me to the lure of night.

  COME, REST AWHILE

  Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray

  In glimmering valleys, cool and far away.

  Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street,

  And listen to the music, faint and sweet,

  That echoes ever to a listening ear,

  Unheard by those who will not pause to hear —

  The wayward chimes of memory’s pensive bells,

  Wind-blown o’er misty hills and curtained dells.

  One step aside and dewy buds unclose

  The sweetness of the violet and the rose;

  Song and romance still linger in the green,

  Emblossomed ways by you so seldom seen,

  And near at hand, would you but see them, lie

  All lovely things beloved in days gone by.

  You have forgotten what it is to smile

  In your too busy life — come, rest awhile.

  AN APRIL NIGHT

  The moon comes up o’er the deeps of the woods,

  And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,

  Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds

  Over the pools and the whimpering rills;

  And with her the mists, like dryads that creep

  From their oaks, or the spirits of pine-hid springs,

  Who hold, while the eyes of the world are asleep,

  With the wind on the hills their gay revellings.

  Down on the marshlands with flicker and glow

  Wanders Will-o’-the-Wisp through the night,

  Seeking for witch-gold lost long ago

  By the glimmer of goblin lantern-light.

  The night is a sorceress, dusk-eyed and dear,

  Akin to all eerie and elfin things,

  Who weaves about us in meadow and mere

  The spell of a hundred vanished Springs.

  RAIN ON THE HILL

  Now on the hill

  The fitful wind is so still

  That never a wimpling mist uplifts,

  Nor a trembling leaf drop-laden stirs;

  From the ancient firs

  Aroma of balsam drifts,

  And the silent places are filled

  With elusive odors distilled

  By the rain from asters empearled and frilled,

  And a wild wet savor that dwells

  Far adown in tawny fallows and bracken dells.

  Then with a rush,

  Breaking the beautiful hush

  Where the only sound was the lisping, low

  Converse of raindrops, or the dear sound

  Close to the ground,

  That grasses make when they grow,

  Comes the wind in a gay,

  Rollicking, turbulent way,

  To winnow each bough and toss each spray,

  Piping and whistling in glee

  With the vibrant notes of a merry minstrelsy.

  The friendly rain

  Sings many a haunting strain,

  Now of gladness and now of dole,

  Anon of the glamor and the dream

  That ever seem

  To wait on a pilgrim soul;

  Yea, we can hear

  The grief of an elder year,

  And laughter half-forgotten and dear;

  In the wind and the rain we find

  Fellowship meet for each change of mood or mind.

  FOR LITTLE THINGS

  Last night I looked across the hills

  And through an arch of darkling pine

  Low-swung against a limpid west

  I saw a young moon shine.

  And as I gazed there blew a wind,

  Loosed where the sylvan shadows stir,

  Bringing delight to soul and sense

  The breath of dying fir.

  This morn I saw a dancing host

  Of poppies in a garden way,

  And straight my heart was mirth-possessed

  And I was glad as they.

  I heard a song across the sea

  As sweet and faint as echoes are,

  And glimpsed a poignant happiness

  No care of earth might mar.

  Dear God, our life is beautiful

  In every splendid gift it brings,

  But most I thank Thee humbly for

  The joy of little things.

  SPRING SONG

  Hark, I hear a robin calling!

  List, the wind is from the south!

  And the orchard-bloom is falling

  Sweet as kisses on the mouth.

  In the dreamy vale of beeches

  Fair and faint is woven mist,

  And the river’s orient reaches

  Are the palest amethyst.

  Every limpid brook is singing

  Of the lure of April days;

  Every piney glen is ringing

  With the maddest roundelays.

  Come and let us seek together

  Springtime lore of daffodils,

  Giving to the golden weather

  Greeting on the sun-warm hills.

  Ours shall be the moonrise stealing

  Through the birches ivory-white;

  Ours shall be the mystic healing

  Of the velvet-footed night.

  Ours shall be the gypsy winding

  Of the path with violets blue,

  Ours at last the wizard finding

  Of the land where dreams come true.

  A DAY OFF

  Let us put awhile away

  All the cares of work-a-day,

  For a golden time forget,

  Task and worry, toil and fret,

  Let us take a day to dream

  In the meadow by the stream.

  We may lie in grasses cool

  Fringing a pellucid pool,

  We may learn the gay brook-runes

  Sung on amber afternoons,

  And the keen wind-rhyme that fills

  Mossy hollows of the hills.

  Where the wild-wood whisper stirs

  We may talk with lisping firs,

  We may gather honeyed blooms

  In the dappled forest glooms,

  We may eat of berries red

  O’er the emerald upland spread.

  We may linger as we will

  In the sunset valleys still,

  Till the gypsy shadows creep

  From the starlit land of sleep,

  And the mist of evening gray

  Girdles round our pilgrim way.

  We may bring to work again

  Courage from the tasselled glen,

  Bring a strength unfailing won

  From the paths of cloud and sun,

  And the wholesome zest that springs

  From all happy, growing things.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579 580 581 582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 607 608 609 610 611 612 613 614 615 616 617 618 619 620 621 622 623 624 625 626 627 628 629 630 631 632 633 634 635 636 637 638 639 640 641 642 643 644 645 646 647 648 649 650 651 652 653 654 655 656 657 658 659 660 661 662 663 664 665 666 667 668 669 670 671 672 673 674 675 676 677 678 679 680 681 682 683 684 685 686 687 688 689 690 691 692 693 694 695 696 697 698 699 700 701 702 703 704 705 706 707 708 709 710 711 712 713 714 715 716 717 718 719 720 721 722 723 724 725 726 727 728 729 730 731 732 733 734 735 736 737 738 739 740 741 742 743 744 745 746 747 748 749 750 751 752 753 754 755 756 757 758 759 760 761 762 763 764 765 766 767 768 769 770 771 772 773 774 775 776 777 778 779 780 781 782 783 784 785 786 787 788 789 790 791 792 793 794 795 796 797