On The Sea-Shore
Can nothing last?
No deep, intense emotion?
Have all things passed,
Can nothing last?
'Yes,' sighs the wind,
' My passion for the Ocean
Must always last.'
Is nothing True?
No words of protestation?
Love cries anew
' Is nothing True?'
'Yes,' sobs the sea,
' My endless adoration
For yonder rock is true !
'Will nothing stand
Against the stress of weather?
Storms sweep the land,
Will nothing stand ?
'Yes,' says the rock,
' For God and I together,
We two will stand.'
By The River
Through the rustling river grasses
Warm and sweet the young wind passes.
Blowing shyly soft caresses
To their dewy emerald tresses.
All along the silver sands
Little ripples joining hands,
Dance a quaint fantastic measure.
Making liquid sounds of pleasure.
While away beyond the weir
Calls the cuckoo loud and clear,
Something mystic and remote,
Ringing in his fairy note.
How I wish that I were small,
Swinging on the rushes tall,
Just a humble happy thing.
Born to hve a while in Spring !
Out At Sea
The sea was witness of the words you said :
She hushed her every tide that she might hear
Your whispered love, and while you bent so near
My bosom, laying down your weary head
To rest thereon—the corals in their bed
Stirred with emotion, shaken as with fear,
And foam grew paler, passionately drear
As some wan smile, upon a face that 's dead.
I took your hand in mine, your living hand !
And pressed it closer, closer in mine own.
A nameless terror shocked me while I scanned
Your ardent face ; there rose a stifled moan
To part my lips; I saw the future stand
Before me, and behold! I was alone.
The Song Of The Watcher
At the early break of day,
When the river mists grow pink.
And the moon begins to sink,
Down along the southern way ;
When the gold mimosa tree
Rustles low and pleasantly.
To the little singing bird
That within her heart has stirred ;
I, the watcher at the window,
Thank the gods who made dawn lovely,
By creating you for me !
When the stately night steps down.
Silent footed, from the west,
With the moon against her breast
Folded in her cloudy gown ;
When the endless, sighing sea
Stretches to eternity.
Yearning for the pale-eyed star,
Long beloved, and yet so far ;
I, the watcher at the window,
Thank the gods who made night lovely,
By creating you for me !
On The Potomac River U.S.A.
At close of June's most burning day,
We took a ship and sailed away :
In mid-Potomac stream sailed we.
To Old Point Comfort by the sea.
The heavy hanging air of dusk
Was thick with scent of fainting musk.
And through the tired willow trees
Stirred never sound or breath of breeze.
So still it was, that from afar
We seemed to hear a falling star,
And every drop we heard, that dript
From off the paddle as it dipped.
The fireflies lit their yellow lamps.
And danced along the marshy damps ;
They skimmed and shot, and skimmed again.
While beetles droned a dance-refrain.
The old ship pushed the mists apart,
And crawled along with throbbing heart,
Pausing from time to time for breath
Beside some jetty, still as death.
The moon rose up all reddish gold.
And lit the swirhng misty fold
Of fog along the river bank,
Where grew the creepers dark and rank.
Sometimes the lonely 'look-out' cried
'All's well': the water swished and sighed
An endless and protesting song,
As stealthily we crept along.
Until at last the wind blew free.
Where the Potomac met the sea ;
And not so very far away
The shores of Old Point Comfort lay.
