Poems

Front matter

POEMS.

A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.

CONTENTS.

Land-locked

POEMS.

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,

Off Shore

And yonder slender stream of changing light, Now white, now crimson, tremulously bright, Where dark the light-house stands, with fiery crown.

Thick falls the dew, soundless on sea and shore: It shines on little boat and idle oar, Wherever moonbeams touch with tranquil glow.

The waves are full of whispers wild and sweet; They call to me,—incessantly they beat Along the boat from stern to curvéd prow.

Comes the careering wind, blows back my hair, All damp with dew, to kiss me unaware, Murmuring "Thee I love," and passes on.

Sweet sounds on rocky shores the distant rote; O could we float forever, little boat, Under the blissful sky drifting alone!

Expectation

What care I if the pansies purple be, Or sweet the wind-harp wails through the slow hours; Or that the lulling music of the sea Comes woven with the perfume of the flowers?

Thou comest not! I ponder o'er the leaves, The crimson drift behind the open door: Soon shall we listen to a wind that grieves, Mourning this glad year, dead forevermore.

And, O my love, shall we on some sad day Find joys and hopes low fallen like the leaves, Blown by life's chilly autumn wind away In withered heaps God's eye alone perceives?

Come thou, and save me from my dreary thought! Who dares to question Time, what it may bring? Yet round us lies the radiant summer, fraught, With beauty: must we dream of suffering?

Yea, even so. Through this enchanted land, This morning-red of life, we go to meet The tempest in the desert, hand in hand, Along God's paths of pain, that seek His feet.

But this one golden moment,—hold it fast! The light grows long: low in the west the sun, Clear red and glorious, slowly sinks at last, And while I muse, the tranquil day is done.

The land breeze freshens in thy gleaming sail! Across the singing waves the shadows creep: Under the new moon's thread of silver pale, With the first star, thou comest o'er the deep

The Wreck of the Pocahontas

A mournful breeze began to blow, Weird music it drew through the iron bars, The sullen billows boiled below, And dimly peered the stars;

The sails that flecked the ocean floor From east to west leaned low and fled; They knew what came in the distant roar That filled the air with dread!

Flung by a fitful gust, there beat Against the window a dash of rain:— Steady as tramp of marching feet Strode on the hurricane.

It smote the waves for a moment still, Level and deadly white for fear; The bare rock shuddered,—an awful thrill Shook even my tower of cheer.

Like all the demons loosed at last, Whistling and shrieking, wild and wide, The mad wind raged, while strong and fast Rolled in the rising tide.

And soon in ponderous showers, the spray, Struck from the granite, reared and sprung And clutched at tower and cottage gray, Where overwhelmed they clung

Half drowning to the naked rock; But still burned on the faithful light, Nor faltered at the tempest's shock, Through all the fearful night.

Was it in vain? That knew not we. We seemed, in that confusion vast Of rushing wind and roaring sea, One point whereon was cast

The whole Atlantic's weight of brine. Heaven help the ship should drift our way! No matter how the light might shine Far on into the day.

When morning dawned, above the din Of gale and breaker boomed a gun! Another! We who sat within Answered with cries each one.

Into each other's eyes with fear, We looked through helpless tears, as still, One after one, near and more near, The signals pealed, until

The thick storm seemed to break apart To show us, staggering to her grave, The fated brig. We had no heart To look, for naught could save.

One glimpse. of black hull heaving slow, Then closed the mists o'er canvas torn And tangled ropes swept to and fro From masts that raked forlorn.

Weeks after, yet ringed round with spray, Our island lay, and none might land; Though blue the waters of the bay Stretched calm on either hand.

And when at last from the distant shore A little boat stole out, to reach Our loneliness, and bring once more Fresh human thought and speech,

We told our tale, and the boatmen cried: "'Twas the Pocahontas,—all were lost! For miles along the coast the tide Her shattered timbers tossed."

Then I looked the whole horizon round,— So beautiful the ocean spread About us, o'er those sailors drowned! "Father in heaven," I said,—

A child's grief struggling in my breast,— "Do purposeless thy children meet Such bitter death? How was it best These hearts should cease to beat?

O wherefore! Are we naught to Thee? Like senseless weeds that rise and fall Upon thine awful sea, are we No more then, after all?"

And I shut the beauty from my sight, For I thought of the dead that lay below; From the bright air faded the warmth and light, There came a chill like snow.

Then I heard the far-off rote resound, Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled, And a subtile sense of Thought profound Touched me with power untold.

And like a voice eternal spake That wondrous rhythm, and, "Peace, be still!" It murmured, "bow thy head and take Life's rapture and life's ill,

And wait. At last all shall be clear." The long, low, mellow music rose And fell, and soothed my dreaming ear With infinite repose.

Sighing I climbed the light-house stair, Half forgetting my grief and pain; And while the day died, sweet and fair, I lit the lamps again.

A Thanksgiving

Quail and sand-piper and swallow and sparrow are here: Sweet sound their manifold notes, high and low, far and near; Chorus of musical waters, the rush of the breeze, Steady and strong from the south,—what glad voices are these!

O cup of the wild-rose, curved close to hold odorous dew, What thought do you hide in your heart? I would that I knew! O beautiful Iris, unfurling your purple and gold, What victory fling you abroad in the flags you unfold?

Sweet may your thought be, red rose, but still sweeter is mine, Close in my heart hidden, clear as your dewdrop divine. Flutter your gonfalons, Iris, the pæan I sing, Is for victory better than joy or than beauty can bring.

Into thy calm eyes, O Nature, I look and rejoice; Prayerful, I add my one note to the Infinite voice: As shining and singing and sparkling glides on the glad day, And eastward the swift-rolling planet wheels into the gray.

The Minute-guns

Where tossed the distant waves, and far Shone silver-white a quiet sail; And overhead the soaring gulls With graceful pinions stemmed the gale.

And all my pulses thrilled with joy, Watching the winds' and waters' strife, With sudden rapture,—and I cried, "O sweet is Life! Thank God for life!"

Sailed any cloud across the sky, Marring this glory of the sun's? Over the sea, from distant forts, There came the boom of minute-guns!

War-tidings! Many a brave soul fled, And many a heart the message stuns! I saw no more the joyous waves, I only heard the minute-guns.

Seaward

That schooner, you remember? Flying ghost! Her canvas catching every wandering beam, Aerial, noiseless, past the glimmering coast She glided like a dream.

Would we were leaning from your window now, Together calling to the eerie loon, The fresh wind blowing care from either brow, This sumptuous night of June!

So many sighs load this sweet inland air, 'Tis hard to breathe, nor can we find relief,— However lightly touched we all must share This nobleness of grief.

But sighs are spent before they reach your ear; Vaguely they mingle with the water's rune. No sadder sound salutes you than the clear, Wild laughter of the loon.

Rock Weeds

Later, June bids the sweet wild rose to blow, Wakes from its dream the drowsy pimpernel; Unfolds the bindweed's ivory buds that glow As delicately blushing as a shell.

Then purple Iris smiles, and hour by hour, The fair procession multiplies; and soon, In clusters creamy white, the elder-flower Waves its broad disk against the rising moon.

O'er quiet beaches shelving to the sea Tall mulleins sway, and thistles; all day long Flows in the wooing water dreamily, With subtile music in its slumberous song.

Herb-robert hears, and princess'-feather bright, And gold-thread clasps the little skull-cap blue; And troops of swallows, gathering for their flight, O'er golden-rod and asters hold review.

The barren island dreams in flowers, while blow The south winds, drawing haze o'er sea and land; Yet the great heart of ocean, throbbing slow, Makes the frail blossoms vibrate where they stand;

And hints of heavier pulses soon to shake Its mighty breast when summer is no more, And devastating waves sweep on and break, And clasp with girdle white the iron shore.

Close folded, safe within the sheltering seed, Blossom and bell and leafy beauty hide; Nor icy blast, nor bitter spray they heed, But patiently their wondrous change abide.

The heart of God through his creation stirs, We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers That die to live again,—his messengers, To keep faith firm in these sad souls of ours.

The waves of Time may devastate our lives, The frosts of age may check our failing breath, They shall not touch the spirit that survives Triumphant over doubt and pain and death.

The Sandpiper

He starts not at my fitful song, Or flash of fluttering drapery. He has no thought of any wrong; He scans me with a fearless eye. Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? My driftwood fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the 'sky: For are we not God's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

Twilight

O thoughtful sky, how many eyes in vain Are lifted to your beauty, full of tears! How many hearts go back through all the years, Heavy with loss, eager with questioning pain,

To read the dim Hereafter, to obtain One glimpse beyond the earthly curtain, where Their dearest dwell, where they may be or e'er September's slender crescent shines again!

The Swallow

The fine, clear fire of joy that steals Through all my spirit at what I see In the glimpse my window's space reveals,— That seems no mystery!

But scarce for her joy can she utter her song; Yet she knows not the beauty of skies or seas. Is it bliss of living, so sweet and strong? Is it love, which is more than these?

O happy creature! what stirs thee so? A spark of the gladness of God thou art. Why should we seek to find and to know The secret of thy heart?

Before the gates of his mystery Trembling we knock with an eager hand; Silent behind them waiteth He; Not yet may we understand.

But thrilling throughout the universe Throbs the pulse of his mighty will, Till we gain the knowledge of joy or curse In the choice of good or ill.

He looks from the eyes of the little child. And searches souls with their gaze so clear; To the heart some agony makes wild He whispers, "I am here."

He smiles in the face of every flower; In the swallow's twitter of sweet content He speaks, and we follow through every hour The way his deep thought went.

Here should be courage and hope and faith; Nought has escaped the trace of his hand; And a voice in the heart of his silence saith, One day we shall understand.

A Grateful Heart

A low voice spake: "And wherefore art thou sad? Here in thy heart all summer folded lies, And smiles in sunshine though the sweet time dies: 'Tis thine to keep forever fresh and glad!"

Yea, gentle voice, though the fair days depart, And skies grow cold above the restless sea, God's gifts are measureless, and there shall be Eternal summer in the grateful heart.

The Spaniards' Graves

Wives, mothers, maidens, wistfully, in vain Questioned the distance for the yearning sail, That, leaning landward, should have stretched again White arms wide on the gale,

To bring back their beloved. Year by year, Weary they watched, till youth and beauty passed, And lustrous eyes grew dim and age grew near, And hope was dead at last.

Still summer broods o'er that delicious land, Rich, fragrant, warm with skies of golden glow: Live any yet of that forsaken band Who loved so long ago?

O Spanish women, over the far seas, Could I but show you where your dead repose Could I send tidings on this northern breeze That strong and steady blows!

Dear dark-eyed sisters, you remember yet These you have lost, but you can never know One stands at their bleak graves whose eyes are wet With thinking of your woe!

Watching

But Nature was so kind! Like a dear friend I loved the loneliness; My heart rose glad as at some sweet caress When passed the wandering wind.

Yet it was joy to hear From out the darkness, sounds grow clear at last, Of rattling rowlock, and of creaking mast, And voices drawing near!

"Is't thou, dear father? Say!" What well known shout resounded in reply, As loomed the tall sail, smitten suddenly With the great light-house ray!

I will be patient now, Dear Heavenly Father, waiting here for thee: I know the darkness holds thee. Shall I be Afraid, when it is Thou?

On thy eternal shore, In pauses, when life's tide is at its prime, I hear the everlasting rote of Time Beating for evermore.

Shall I not then rejoice? O never lost or sad should child of thine Sit waiting, fearing lest there come no sign, No whisper of thy voice!

In May

O Mother Nature, infinitely dear! Vainly I search the beauty of thy face, Vainly thy myriad voices charm my ear, I cannot gather from thee any trace Of God's intent. Help me to understand Why, this sweet morn, Death holds me by the hand.

I watch the waves, shoulder to shoulder set, That strive and vanish and are seen no more. The earth is sown with graves that we forget, And races of mankind the wide world o'er Rise, strive, and vanish, leaving nought behind, Like changing waves swept by the changing wind.

"Hard-hearted, cold, and blind," she answers me, "Vexing thy soul with riddles hard to guess! No waste of any atom canst thou see, Nor make I any gesture purposeless. Lift thy dim eyes up to the conscious sky! God meant that rapture in the curlew's cry.

"He holds his whirling worlds in check; not one May from its awful orbit swerve aside; Yet breathes He in this south wind, bids the sun Wake the fair flowers He fashioned, far and wide, And this strong pain thou canst not understand Is but his grasp on thy reluctant hand."

A Summer Day

Stealing along the coast from cape to cape The weird mirage crept tremulously on, In many a magic change and wondrous shape, Throbbing beneath the sun.

At noon the wind rose, swept the glassy sea To sudden ripple, thrust against the clouds A strenuous shoulder, gathering steadily Drove them before in crowds;

Till all the west was dark, and inky black The level-ruffled water underneath, And up the wind cloud tossed,—a ghostly rack, In many a ragged wreath.

Then sudden roared the thunder, a great peal Magnificent, that broke and rolled away; And down the wind plunged, like a furious keel, Cleaving the sea to spray;

And brought the rain sweeping o'er land and sea. And then was tumult! Lightning sharp and keen, Thunder, wind, rain,—a mighty jubilee The heaven and earth between!

Loud the roused ocean sang, a chorus grand; A solemn music rolled in undertone Of waves that broke about on either hand The little island lone;

Where, joyful in His tempest as His calm, Held in the hollow of that hand of His, I joined with heart and soul in God's great psalm, Thrilled with a nameless bliss.

Soon lulled the wind, the summer storm soon died; 'The shattered clouds went eastward, drifting slow; From the low sun the rain-fringe swept aside, Bright in his rosy glow,

And wide a splendor streamed through all the sky; O'er sea and land one soft, delicious blush, That touched the gray rocks lightly, tenderly; A transitory flush.

Warm, odorous gusts blew off the distant land, With spice of pine-woods, breath of hay new-mown, O'er miles of waves and sea scents cool and bland, Full in our faces blown.

Slow faded the sweet light, and peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one: The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done.

Such unalloyed delight its hours had given, Musing, this thought rose in my grateful mind, That God, who watches all things, up in heaven, With patient eyes and kind,

Saw and was pleased, perhaps, one child of his Dared to be happy like the little birds, Because He gave his children days like this Rejoicing beyond words;

Dared, lifting up to Him untroubled eyes In gratitude that worship is, and prayer, Sing and be glad with ever new surprise, He made his world so fair!

Regret

The day I left them all; and sailed away, While o'er the calm sea, 'neath the soft gray sky They waved farewell, she followed me, to say Yet once again her wistful, sweet "good-bye."

At the boat's bow she drooped; her light-green dress Swept o'er the skiff in many a graceful fold, Her glowing face, bright with a mute caress, Crowned with her lovely hair of shadowy gold:

And tears she dropped into the crystal brine For me, unworthy—as we slowly swung Free of the mooring. Her last look was mine, Seeking me still the motley crowd among.

O tender memory of the dead I hold So precious through the fret and change of years! Were I to live till Time itself grew old, The sad sea would be sadder for those tears.

Before Sunrise

And sights and sounds and sea-scents delicate, So wrought upon my soul with sense of bliss, Happy I sat as if at heaven's gate, Asking on earth no greater joy than this.

And now, at dawn, upon the beach again, Kneeling I wait the coming of the sun, Watching the looser-folded buds, and fain To see the marvel of their day begun.

All the world lies so dewy-fresh and still! Whispers so gently all the water wide, Hardly it breaks the silence: from the hill Come clear bird-voices mingling with the tide.

Sunset or dawn: which is the lovelier? Lo! My darlings, sung to all the balmy night By summer waves and softest winds that blow, Begin to feel the thrilling of the light!

Red lips of roses waiting to be kissed By early sunshine, soon in smiles will break. But O, ye morning-glories, that keep tryst With the first ray of day-break, ye awake!

O bells of triumph, ringing noiseless peals Of unimagined music to the day! Almost I could believe each blossom feels The same delight that sweeps my soul away.

O bells of triumph! delicate trumpets, thrown Heavenward and earthward, turned east, west, north, south, In lavish beauty, who through you has blown This sweet cheer of the morning with calm mouth?

'Tis God who breathes the triumph; He who wrought The tender curves, and laid the tints divine Along the lovely lines; the Eternal Thought That troubles all our lives with wise design.

Yea, out of pain and death his beauty springs, And out of doubt a deathless confidence: Though we are shod with leaden cares, our wings Shall lift us yet out of our deep suspense!

Thou great Creator! Pardon us who reach For other heaven beyond this world of thine,

This matchless world, where thy least touch doth teach Thy solemn lessons clearly, line on line.

And help us to be grateful, we who live Such sordid, fretful lives of discontent, Nor see the sunshine nor the flower, nor strive To find the love thy bitter chastening meant.

By the Roadside

Right and left I scanned the landscape round, Every shape, and scent, and wild bird's call, Every color, curve, and gentle sound, Deep into my heart I gathered all.

Up I looked, and down upon.the sod Sprinkled thick with violets blue and bright, "Surely, 'Through his garden walketh God,'" Low I whispered, full of my delight.

Like a vision, on the path before, Came a little rosy, sun-browned maid, Straying toward me from her cottage door, Paused, up-looking shyly, half afraid.

Never word she spake, but gazing so, Slow a smile rose to her clear brown eyes, Overflowed her face with such a glow That I thrilled with sudden, sweet surprise.

Here was sunshine 'neath the cloudy skies! Low I knelt to bring her face to mine: Sweeter, brighter grew her shining eyes, Yet she gave me neither word nor sign.

But within her look a blessing beamed: Meek I grew before it: was it just? Was I worthy this pure light that streamed? Such approval, and such love and trust!

Half the flowers I carried in my hands, Lightly.in her pretty arms I laid: Silent, but as one who understands, Clasped them close the rosy little maid.

Fair behind the honeysuckle spray Shone her innocent, delightful face! Then I rose and slowly went my way, Left her standing, lighting all the place.

While her golden look stole after me, Lovelier bloomed the violets where I trod: More divine earth's beauty seemed to be, "Through his garden visibly walked God."

Sorrow

I heard and shrank away from her afraid; But still she held me and would still abide; Youth's bounding pulses slackened and obeyed, With slowly ebbing tide.

"Look thou beyond the evening star," she said, "Beyond the changing splendors of the day; Accept the pain, the weariness, the dread, Accept and bid me stay!"

I turned and clasped her close with sudden strength, And slowly, sweetly, I became aware Within my arms God's angel stood at length, White-robed and calm and fair.

And now I look beyond the evening star, Beyond the changing splendors of the day, Knowing the pain He sends more precious far, More beautiful, than they.

Courage

And in each one of these rebellious tears Kept bravely back, He makes a rainbow shine; Grateful I take his slightest gift, no fears Nor any doubts are mine.

Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past, One golden day redeems a weary year; Patient I listen, sure that sweet at last Will sound his voice of cheer.

Then vex me not with chiding. Let me be. I must be glad and grateful to the end. I grudge you not your cold and darkness,—me The powers of light befriend.

Song

O realize the moment's charm, Thou dearest! we are at life's best, Folded in God's encircling arm, Wave-cradled thus and wind-caressed.

A Tryst

Brave men, sweet women, little children bright, For all these she made room, And with her freight of beauty and delight She went to meet her doom.

Storms buffeted the iceberg, spray was swept Across its loftiest height; Guided alike by storm and calm, it kept Its fatal path aright.

Then warmer waves gnawed at its crumbling base, As if in piteous plea; The ardent sun sent slow tears down its face, Soft flowing to the sea.

Dawn kissed it with her tender rose tints, Eve Bathed it in violet, The wistful color o'er it seemed to grieve With a divine regret.

Whether Day clad its clefts in rainbows dim And shadowy as a dream, Or Night through lonely spaces saw it swim White in the moonlight's gleam,

Ever Death rode upon its solemn heights, Ever his watch he kept; Cold at its heart through changing days and nights Its changeless purpose slept.

And where afar a smiling coast it passed, Straightway the air grew chill; Dwellers thereon perceived a bitter blast, A vague report of ill.

Like some imperial creature, moving slow, Meanwhile, with matchless grace, The stately ship, unconscious of her foe, Drew near the trysting place.

For still the prosperous breezes followed her, And half the voyage was o'er, In many a breast glad thoughts began to stir Of lands that lay before.

And human hearts with longing love were dumb, That soon should cease to beat, Thrilled with the hope of meetings soon to come, And lost in memories sweet.

Was not the weltering waste of water wide Enough for both to sail? What drew the two together o'er the tide, Fair ship and iceberg pale?

There came a night with neither moon nor star, Clouds draped the sky in black; With fluttering canvas reefed at every spar, And weird fire in her track,

The ship swept on; a wild wind gathering fast Drove her at utmost speed. Bravely she bent before the fitful blast That shook her like a reed.

O helmsman, turn thy wheel! Will no surmise Cleave through the midnight drear? No warning of the horrible surprise Reach thine unconscious ear?

She rushed upon her ruin. Not a flash Broke up the waiting dark; Dully through wind and sea -one awful crash Sounded, with none to mark.

Scarcely her crew had time to clutch despair, So swift the work was done: Ere their pale lips could frame a speechless prayer, They perished, every one!

Imprisoned

O prisoned wave that may not see the sun! O voice that never may be comforted! You cannot break the web that Fate has spun; Out of your world are light and gladness fled.

The red dawn nevermore shall tremble far Across the leagues of radiant brine to you; You shall not sing to greet the evening star, Nor dance exulting under heaven's clear blue.

Inexorably woven is the weft That shrouds from you all joy but memory: Only this tender, low lament is left Of all the sumptuous splendor of the sea.

Presage

"All undeserved it came. To-day God takes it back again, because Too beautiful a thing it was For such as I to keep for aye."

And ever, through the coming years, My star, remote in happy skies, Would seem more heavenly fair through eyes Yet tremulous with unfallen tears.

Midsummer Midnight

Needs the enchantment of the summer night Another touch to make it perfect? Hark! What sudden shaft of sound, like piercing light, Strikes on the ear athwart the moonlit dark? Like some keen shock of joy is heard within The wondrous music of the violin.

It is as if dumb Nature found a voice, And spoke with power, though in an unknown tongue. What kinship has the music with the noise Of waves, or winds, or with the flowers, slow-swung Like censers to and fro upon the air, Or with the shadow, or the moonlight fair?

And yet it seems some subtile link exists, We know not how. And over every phase Of thought and feeling wandering as it lists, Playing upon us as the west wind plays Over the wind-harp, the subduing strain Sweeps with resistless power of joy and pain.

Slow ebbs the golden tide and all is still. Ask the magician at whose touch awoke That mighty, penetrating, prisoned will, The matchless voice that so divinely spoke,

Kindling to fresher life the listening soul, What daring thought such fire from heaven stole?

He cannot tell us how the charm was wrought, Though in his hand he holds the potent key, Nor read the spell that to the sweet night brought This crown of rapture and of mystery, And lifted every heart, and drew away All trace of worldliness that marred the day.

But every head is bowed. We watch the sea With other eyes, as if some hint of bliss Spoke to us through the yearning melody, Of glad new worlds, of brighter lives than this; While still the milk-white, stately phlox waves slow, And drowsily the poppy rocks below.

April Days

O the sweet, sweet lapsing of the tide, Through the still hours of the golden afternoon! Nor death, nor pain, nor sorrow shall abide, For God blesses all his children, late or soon.

Heartbreak Hill

So this poor dusk Ariadne kept Her watch from the hill-top rugged and steep; Slowly the empty moments crept While she studied the changing face of the deep,

Fastening her eyes upon every speck That crossed the ocean within her ken; Might not her lover be walking the deck, Surely and swiftly returning again?

The Isles of Shoals loomed, lonely and dim, In the northeast distance far and gray, And on the horizon's uttermost rim The low rock heap of Boon Island lay.

And north and south and west and east Stretched sea and land in the blinding light, Till evening fell, and her vigil ceased, And many a hearth-glow lit the night,

To mock those set and glittering eyes Fast growing wild as her hope went out. Hateful seemed earth, and the hollow skies, Like her own heart, empty of aught but doubt.

O, but the weary, merciless days, With the sun above, with the sea afar,— No change in her fixed and wistful gaze From the morning-red to the evening star!

O, the winds that blew, and the birds that sang, The calms that smiled, and the storms that rolled, The bells from the town beneath, that rang Through the summer's heat and the winter's cold!