title: The ocean of dreams
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A £3*1 ^ >  DREAMS. At the uttermost end of Heart’s Desire At the feet of that beautiful land, Lies an ocean as blue as the blue sapphire, With a girdle of diamond dust sand. And ever the cherry blossoms blow, White as the foam on the waves below, The Edenlike gardens where they grow, Where wonderful palaces stand. Oh, a bark of pearly nautilus frail Will bear you far on the sapphire sea, The perfumed airs will fill the sail, The fairest promise shall go with thee. And ever the pale sea line recedes, And the crescent moon sends her silver beams From the purple sky on golden weeds, Which, lily-like, float, on the sea of dreams. FLOWER FANCIES I want to dream, a while, alone. Of my garden, now gone by Where fancies with flowers, were sown, and grown To bud, and blossom, and die, For I feel sometimes, the flowers we sow Have hearts, that can understand The joy of the gardener, or share his woe For they flourish under his hand, And the blood warm cheek of the rose so red And the tulips crimson bowl, And each upturned eye, in the violet bed Is hiding a flower's soul. Incense, is the soul of a flower Breathing of blossoms gone by Perfume, is the pearl of their power Immortal, and dare not die The fragrance flown, from summer dead From lily, violet, roses red And the sleep compelling poppy, thrown To Autumn winds, and by them blown Afar, returns with wanton will As can not die, nor yet lie still — And now, the winter sunlight pale, Laid on the marsh, and the sullen sea At times glows brighter, a warmer gale Over the eel grass blows fitfully Bearing bright blooms from memory Of drowsy Augusts of long ago, As a blood red rose, on a drift of snow; Calls to the mind all dead desire, Those crimson blossoms born of fire; Which can recall the song we sung When we, and the willful world were young Relights the torch, touches a bar Of music, heard on some lost star Restores to sense, our long dead spring The song we sung, and yet may sing. THE EMPTY HOUSE. Who has not known, That sadness, and regret Its sorrow giving, From the past set free The haunting presence, Thou can’st not forget, Those, who are living, And yet, dead to thee? Is there not one, Who haunts some vacant place Whose voice, in some dark room, Breathes low like prayer; And garments rustle, Through the empty space? Ah, gently tread the gloom, For She; is there. EXPECTANT. No sleep, is on the restless eye, No rest, comes to the troubled brain, When will the darker hours pass by? When comes, the new born, sun again? Each day, ten thousand blossoms die, Each day, ten thousand buds are born. Say! Does my star, still ride the sky? Oh! what fierce fate, comes with the morn? Sailing across, some star lit sea Vereiled in thin mist, which cannot rise And the low waves, are warm wind kissed The horizon, is endlessly Stretching, before the dripping prow Of my frail craft, while all the eyes Of the strange stars, blink sleepily So broad the sea, so far the skies So white the mist, that twix them lies That all their trickery, and chance; Are lost to ken? Yes they disguise The slightest hint, of treachery And only music, from them pour For all the winds, make melody Yet Fate, is waiting at the door Of Circumstance, twix sky and sea Low wail, the winds, with little light And lesser still, each far, star gleams So sail, I onward, through the night To sight, my port of dreams. Long may I seek, yet never find My ever summer sheltered, isles Of Fancy, where the poplars lined Against blue sky, sigh, in their sleep And all the scarlet flowers keep The long lost secrets, of the heart When hearts were young, and could impart Something, besides their bitterness And penitent, the waves confess Their sins, to Father Silence, on that shore His presence broodeth, evermore, Where pools, of many colors lie Between dark peaks of mountain isles Which hide them from the open sea That far, blue, open sea line thrown Beyond the coral walled lagoon Belting the world, and even my Lost isle, the child, of sea and sky I could not brood, too long upon The Past, or it's old melody It’s sad sweet airs, would break each string Of my dark heart, and yet they bring A blessing, and a boon; They say “Lo, every, golden Yesterday Was pain, while present, for your soul Was then, as now, far, far away.” IT SEEMS AS THOUGH. (From the Pleasure Voyage.) It seems as though We may have walked, By some forgotten sea, And seen the deep tide Turn, and go. Back to his hollows free. It seems as though, We may have stood, On some forsaken star, And watched the waves Of Saturn flow, Round his triumphal car. It seems as though We may have been Two souls, ’twixt Heaven and Hell And learned the lore Of joy, and woe, The star strown. It seems, Dear Heart! In some far time, Ere ever, the earth grew cold, Two souls, we bore A kindred part, And Thou wert mine of old. EVENING SEA Eastward, there lies a purple evening sea Bound on the west by a ribbon of sand Wind worn, and dark, salt pines, the beach command On main and marsh, the sun beams fail and flee For the sun is setting: behind each tree The stealthy shadows lurk, leap on the strand As the sun sinks slow, in the marsh inland He yields his royal reign reluctantly So fades some golden hour, on Life’s sad sea As flies, the music, from some shattered shell And dies, of pride, and power, the guady gleams The lingering fragrance, from a broken flower All that it has of charm, yet all were well If we dreamed true, by oceans, set with dreams. THE DESERTED PALACE There was no pleasure, in all the palace All its gods were gone away; Untasted, the wine, in each crystal chalice Music’s soul, came hushed that day Tards noon came one who swiftly past Through every court and banquet hall Till in far gardens, he came at last To the towering terrace, overlooking the wall Over the empty lawn he paces Beneath the bay trees blue, and high, Seeking forever, those vanished faces Seen now never, by mortal eye Forever flown, with their gifts, and graces Into exile and poverty To be robed in rags, (who were lavish with laces) In that stranger land, lying over the sea A bird note, answered his anxious call The plaintive wail, of the whippoorwill Mixed with the fairy fountain's fall But other voices; were silent still The lazy, languid, ones had fled Their hearts were broken, their hearths were cold Neglected, each delicate rose, lay dead Their faded fragments, strewed the mold Like drops of blood, rose petals lie And the undried dew, in the shade, seems tears O'er the garden shed, by the sorrowful sky Lamenting, the vanished, lords, and peers. And in the evening, the searcher came Again to the lonely banquet place And lit the tapers; the flickering flame Played white, on a wan and worn face But now, a marvelous thing befell: As ebb tide turned, and came back from the sea The lights lit brighter: the vesper bell Over the chapel tolled musically And Evesong ended, lady, and lord, Or only their presence, their ghosts glide through The palace portals, and through the board As they of old, were wont to do As though their love, from over the main Blessing it’s ancient cover still, Returned with the tide, from peril and pain To hover over, it's weird fulfill The day is long, and the mind is free To follow the footpath, where we roam But as ebb tide turns, and comes back from the sea With moon, and midnight; the heart turns home. THE LOST SWEETHEART. Come, Little Love, the day dawns sweet And all the starry eyes, are blind; Come to the warm, white sands, and find Some gift of Ocean at our feet Mid shells, and seaweed, course intertwined. Lo, all night long, my soul hath pined And sought you. Now the day dawns fair And all the starry spies, are blind; Come to the warm, white sands to find, Mayhap, the mermaids’ combs are there. Sure 'twas a mocking dream that said, “Now night is fled, and dawns the day.” What matter, Sweetheart, what dreams say? Still, I have dreamed, that you were Dead, And cold, beneath the churchyard clay And vacant, and all lonely, lay Twixt main, and marsh, our future home, Yet night is sped, and dawns the day. What matter, Sweetheart, what dreams say O! Sweetheart! Sweetheart! Come. THE ISLES OF DEAD DREAMS. Right gently, Charon, ferry them over, The faded, dead dreams of yore, The dreams of love, the visions of power, These dreams have been dreamed before. So mock them not, in their fallen pride Because, that pride was vain; But tenderly lay them, like withered flowers, All side, by side, in the cedar tree bowers Of islands in the main. Their islands lie, on the edge of the world, On the thin blue curve of sea. And when we shall tire, of each lost desire, They'll harbor these poor waifs free. Soft sighs the wind in the cedar grove On the steep, steep heights above The silent deep valleys, shut off from the sky By the mist, and the mangrove, where shrouded lie The poor dead dreams of love. So gently, Charon, ferry them over, Far over, the stormy flow; The dreams of love, the visions of power, To islands, where dead dreams go. LORD CALVERT’S CITY There is a city, of which my dreams Are all of its purple, evening, hour When the soft mists rise, from the basin's mouth And the warm winds blow, from that further South Whose gateway, the city seems And blue smoke wreaths against purple sky. And opal mist, together vie In changing tints, to charm the eye Of contemplative laziness And looking over the moves one saw The past, and present, in the mind And future, Fancy's day dreams lined Against the paleening horizon And loved to watch, with Day near done The stars appear, and one, by one The lights of the ships, and of the town Shine through the dusk, as the jeweled crown James Stuart, cast in the Thames, as he fled, May have shone, on its murkry bed And the soft night, is tilled with sound Tenderly blended, from far below With laughter of negroes, and all around The students windows open glow And the air is fragrant with pipes, and cooking, And far flung perfume, from fields in May And Lo, I am lonely, as I am looking Through Memory’s mirror, at Yesterday Little winds, from the bay are stealing Telling tales, of the far sea brine Little laughs, from the doorway pealing All angelically feminine And sight, and sense, and feeling seem So blended recollections lie Can but recall some town, like to a dream City, set as a pearl, in opal sky Though I have failed, in many things And all my fire flies have turned To glow worms, lacking airy wings And soon extinguished where they burned, I would not live again the past Nor it’s forgotten tales retell For Memory holds, and clings at last Only; to what runs well. THE LOST SOUL. Ah, have I dreamed, I wandered late And left — I know not what behind, In the Churchyard? I cannot mind Just what it is; that I would find, But think it lies, near to the gate — Near to the gate, with upturned eyes. Under a mound of fresh-turned clay, I fear I must have lost my way, A circle have I trod, — For See! The house I died in Yesterday. And they? — Have they forgotten me? The wide world, swims, in sunset glow, Cold are the peaks, and far below My own hearth fire, flickers bright Should I come home by candle light What — then? WINTER SHORE Is this the shore, where drowsy August lay Poppy crowned crimson, with her languid eye Fixed ever, on the dim blue summer sky Flecked with white clouds, that heaven has long been gray Long has Old Ocean ceased his summer play And furious, hurls his angry wave arms high In agony, his vanguards vainly try To pass the sodden sand that bars their way The ice binds the salt meadows with a band And cloaks the barnackles, on pile, and pier The sea lies sad. Dark clouds hide all above Is this indeed, our lazy summer strand And this dull tide, the main, we held so dear When Baldur, ruled with Avis, god of love. THE ADVENTURER’S COURTING. (From The Pleasure Voyage) Love, where the gallies of Long Ago Swam in a sleepy, southern sea. Love, where the citron and olive grow, And the orange blossoms, blow to thee. A message of indolent ease; Foreswear the hum of the busy bees, That hive in the north A tale they tell Of toil, and trouble, Come forth! Come forth! To lands where the lotus letheans Oh best beloved! Of all of those, I have loved in youth I shall love in age. Come forth! Come forth! From the cold, hard, north, To lands where the drowsy dryads, gage The hours, by flowers, And fruits, that fall From trees, that but blossom, and bare again. Where the season flies, And summer dies, But to be refreshed, in the weeks of rain. And the odors of Eden, Their fragrance threw For naught to the breeze That blows clear, and high, Across the palms, from the burning blue, That lives, in a southern sky. NEW SPRING From over seas, Spring is at hand At our heart’s door, twix faith, and doubt Love lingers long, and waits without Love knows not, if we understand At our heart's door, twix faith, and doubt The message, that he fain would bring With bursting buds, and balm of Spring Love lingers long, and waits without From overseas, Spring is at hand Hinting at things we cannot tell: Can a new love, the old excel? Love knows not, if we understand Love lingers long, and waits without Though Spring be near, and Winter old; Though Youth be dear, and Age be cold; At our heart's door, twix faith, and doubt Love knows not, if we understand Of fires relit, which long have lain In ashes, of their pride, and pain From over seas, Spring is at hand Come Love! Come Spring! On sea and land Sad is our lot; our Winter rout; From over seas, Spring is at hand! Love lingers not; nor waits without. NIGHT Then Night, is dearer than the day And Day, is darker than the night When our last hopes, are washed away In tears, and then too soon their flight Those Years, when our wrong world, went right And all was glittering, and gay Then Night, is dearer than the day And Day, is dearer than the day And Day, is dearer than the night When we have failed, in every fight Found our dear idols, were but clay When all we love, is lost to sight And fled for aye Romance, and May Then Night, is dearer than the day And Day, is dearer than the night PR ESTER JOHN. East of Saint Peter's wondrous dome Beyond the shores, of Patriarchal Greece, Beyond, the imperial sway of Ancient Rome, Far in the mountains, lay the Court of Peace Far north of Delhi's Mogul reign. By Hindayan mountains guarded well. Beyond the Afghan raider’s, power of bane, Lay Prester John’s forbidden citadel, A wondrous city, in a barren land. Of chasms deep, and snow-clad mountains old, And desert lakes, half choked with drifting sand, Silent, and lone, and cold His towers reared their heads, on that plateau, From whose proud snow caps, does the Indus sweep, Down to the fertile plains of Hind below; And binds, with silver chains, the mountains’ feet Enriched with precious gems, and mountain gold And pearls far brought, from Nippon's isle-strown seas, And tapestries, of China’s empire old, The palace was, the Prester’s heart to please, On All sides from the palace, straight there fell, A gulf so hideous, and so wildly drear As though it were the very gate of Hell. It chilled the traveler's heart, with sudden fear, Strange shapes, danced in the moonlight pale. Reads the quaint lore of Manville, who could show A thing to make the boldest heart to quail, That they were devils, dancing there below. L'ENVOY. Spirit of Fancy, in a world so lone; Forever, may thy mystic temples stand Mountain protected, like the Prester’s throne. Guarded forever, in a forbidden land. DAWN'S CONQUEST. An hour passed on, And yet, the darkness lay As though, it never would; Give place to day As though, the host of stars Standing at bay Cried “We are victors!” Who shall say us nay? In quick succession, On the level shore Snow white, and ghost like, But with dreadful roar The advancing host of billows, Showered their spray Then came a change Too quick, for mortal eye Their silent, subtle, Fading, to descry The thousand burning orbs; Dimmed in the sky The dark, and lowering, Canopy of Night Was streaked at first; And then suffused, with light And from the East Victorious on his way Pursuing vanquished Night, came on, The Victor Day. THE CHILD OF THE SKY. (An Autumn Idyl.) Up, up, among the autumn leaves, Swings the child of the sky, Where the cold north wind, that lifts, and heaves These frost-born flowers, flings high. Up, up, against the banded white The stratus clouds to view, And he could even catch a sight Far off, of a salt sea blue. Up Up, against the heaven soon Watched morning wax, to afternoon, The light, turn, waning fast. The East grew grayer, till at last — High in the heaven, a slender, crescent moon. Hung o’er the hills, a scimiter aglow, And mocked the golden leaf, so far below. THE MOON MANSIONS With eyelids half devoid of sleep, Beneath the light of Lima At her noon, on the golden disk Did far flung fancy, heap Tower, and hold, and castle keep Of mansions, in the moon. Beneath the borrowed light, sun lent. Rose mountains, walled by silence, And below, their towering tops, Was gold effulgence spent, On halls of souls in banishment And on, a silent flow. For on the further summits bold The thorn set courts, of Gallio And Cain, o’erset a crater In whose dull depths rolled The sluggish currents, of a cold, And cobalt blue, moon main. But as I watched, a shaft of fire That in the eastern heaven Had lain there, leaping in fury Moonward, struck a spire Beneath that sunlit touch, so dire Each palace, fades in air. Spacious buildings, lose their splendors, Luna herself, is waxing White and wan. The very moon, her Golden glow surrenders Hastly fly, her star defenders. Sore stricken, by the Dawn. Her fair form, fading from on high All white, and deadly palored The moon lay. The Orient Sun Rolled naked in the sky Blood red, in blazing majesty, And brought, a burning day, IF If I could do, as I have done If you, should sigh, as you have sighed. If I could win, as I have won, One look of love, a azure eyed! If I could know, you loved me yet, If you would but, forgive, forget Misunderstanding long ago Which sunk my summer sun, in snow If you, would only turn, and say “Come Love, the past, is yesterday We have long life before us still, There is a way, where there’s a will’ Could we not climb to that high state, Though Youth be gone, and years be late Which Eve, and Adam, knew so well Before they by the tempter fell Most Precious Pearl; though I be fool, Thy face, and mine; each hide a skulk FANETTE Ah fluffy Fanette, is it gala night That you are all arrayed in broad cloth blue With orchid bouquet, placed to match the hue Of Irish lace, that forms your collar white? These are spoils of a conflict, wrong, or right As failure, or success, your father knew In this town toilsome, where his fortune grew For honor here; is made by craft, and might But I, I, be bound, in your heavy hair And I, I, be drowned, in those lakes your eyes And your fairy feet, on my heart are set. Ah Princess, this believe; I still should care For you, although you came in beggar’s guise In silk, or sackcloth, you are still — Fanette. THE PEACOCK BOWER Bower, by bower, the peacocks plume Themselves, on the turf, and marble wall. Flower, by flower, the gardens bloom Hour By hour, the shadows crawl Across the grass, till they steep in shade The red, red, roses, covering all. And dead, dead, fragrants, that crumble and fall Under the fresh ones, newly made. Time, and tide, by the peacock bowers, Lazily drift, o’er a summer sea. Climb beside the jasmine flowers The royal ramblers of Arcadie. The radiant roses, running red, Midst piebald pansy, and asphodel, With laurel, lily, and lovely blue bell, Spring from the dust of ancient dead. Sailing slow, o’er the peacock bower, Veiling in places, the heaven's hue, Come clouds, that are dusted with golden dower, Till a sad, sweet note, of music new, Like song of a skylark from the sky, Falls like an arrow true, Falls, till it pierces the liquid eye Of lake, and ocean blue. Alas! Illusion, fades hour, by hour, The white wall crumbles; the peacocks flee, The rose is withering, bower, by bower, Flower, sweet flower, come back to me! Dies the dream of passion, and power, Sinks sand, and summer sea, Sweet Delusion, my peacock bower, Cradled on Bermudie. Now, is the longed for hour come, Now, is our triumph dear Bought at the price of honor, and all Wrung, from Fate, in our heavy fall As the day of our doom draws near Tomorrow, a week, a month, a year Who knows, how the time will fly? Our present power, tonight’s full fame Tomorrow, may sink, in sorrow, and shame Let us drink; for tomorrow, we die Down in the east, the dawn dogs lie Gray streaks, with the day in their wake We be sons of plunder, of pride, not toil Let us wallow tonight; on our crimson spoil ’Tis the last, we may ever take Up goblets: Our heads, on our cause we stake They be lost, as we lose, or stand We drink tonight — To our triumph bright — Who exiles, the day, may brand But tonight; we have sheathed the sword in hand Now; is our right divine! Now; we are masters; of all the land Lords; of the women, and wine! SPIRIT OF SONG. Spirit of Song, come again, It is long since we drank together, Now is Night June, and the rain Has ceased, with the summer weather Let us laugh, with the liquid gold In the wine, let us cast our care. What if the world, be barren and old, Beauty, and Youth, are there. Why, should we grieve in part? Are not the new, roses red? The song, is it not in the heart Held long, though the singer be dead There was a night, that was day To this night; softer far — But the lamp; shall we cast it away — Because, it is not, a star? Here is a health. It is half Jest, for things gone with the years On the edge of our lips, lies a laugh On the lids of our eyes, are tears. THE LETTERS. Faded sheets, where the ink that once was blue, Has faded also, to a rusty gray, Scarce legible, at first, one needs must lay One's finger, on the fragile page, in hue Once white, as the white roses, that we knew, In that fair, far, forgotten, garden gay, That ever seems, to bask in waning day. And is the place, in which I courted you In that far time, you wrote these notes to me So long ago, that I forget the years. Between those pleasures, and the present pain I know, but cannot read, these lines from thee Nor have the heart to, were it not in vain, Some long agoes, are only traced, through tears. THE LOST GARDEN. There were roses white. There were roses red. They lined the walks, and they climbed, on the wall, And the honey bee, and humming bird, fed From fragrant lily stalks, slender, and tall, But of all the flowers, we knew the best, Beyond the sun-dial, and far from the gate, The white, white, roses, that bloomed tux. Forward the west, For they glowed like lamps, in the gloaming late. The Jacobite rose, so stainless of hue, You wore on your breast, in the long ago. We stood on the grass, beneath the bay trees blue, But the white rose, lay, o'er a heart of snow. There were roses red. There were roses white. And I was a moth in the candle light. THE DAWNING A darker night, than this that lies On rain-soaked field and battered tree A darker night, than this that dies On sodden sand, and silent sea A darker night spreads over me Oh! what will end it’s sorry sway? When, on the dark line, of Life’s sea Shall dawn my day? WHITE MARSH. Fly your banners, of blossom, and bloom, Red ridges, roll down to the sea, Pink of peaches, and cherry plume, White, on the wind-washed tree. Laugh to the sun, and the silent stars Smile on the vale below. Wave your willows, o’er silver bars That mark, where the broad brooks flow. Forget your sorrow, sad, sighing stream, Shout, to the ridges free. Red roads, roll up to the sky-line’s gleam. Red ridges, roll down to the sea. BERMUDIAN NIGHT. (From the Pleasure Voyage.) All hail! Soft southern night! When each sweet star Hangs lamplike, in the heaven’s purple dome, As lights before an altar, and afar, Incense, from flowers, is wafted through the gloom. The mystery of maid, and moth, and moon, Broods white, on tiny shrub, and proud palm tree. A breeze awakes, o'er Under silent sand, and soon The swaying cedars, sigh unto the sea. A phantom flash of phosphorescent fire Marks an oar’s stroke, on the dark harbor’s breast, Far off, the sleepy sound of ocean’s lyre, Lulls his sweet child, cradled in his caress, So steeped in silence, slumber, and delight, Sleep on, yet wake, thou blest Bermudian night. In Exile My heart is heavy, for the sea, And I am loth, of leaf, and land Yet here I bide, and may not flee To turning tide, and warm, white sand The hills, as hoary sentries stand Veiling the view, so narrowly My heart is heavy for the sea, And I am loth, of leaf, and land Oh, how the memory comes to me Of waning day, on the gray strand The wide, wide world, held sleepily Bound in the broad, and purple band My heart is heavy, for the sea, And I am loth, of leaf, and land. THE SHELL AND THE ROSE A rose, once bloomed in a garden Many miles inland, they say, Among the grasses, and pebbles, At her feet, a sea shell lay. She swayed, and laughed, to the hedge rows For she, was bred inland And how could she hear, his song so clear? He, sang, of the wet sea sand. The shell was lovelorn, and in exile, But she, in a home so fair, To her, that she never stooped to smile On him, in misery there. But sweet June died in the garden, And under the fiery sun, And molten skies of midsummer; The roses, drooped one by one. The sea shell heard the thunder, That shook the angry sky To gather the drops from heaven, His cup did open lie Down, falls, the pelting shower Past; all her hopes, and fears The shattered rose, is floating On the lake, of the sea shell’s tears. THE LOST FLOWER The Lost Flower . Once possessed a flower’s yield, As fluffy, and pure, as snow; It came from a gardened fairy field Where white carnations grow; But I lost the flower, in an evil hour, And ere I had found it once more The blossom was dead, that blest my bower And naught, could its beauty restore; I reverently laid the withered thing In the garden it once made fair; Hope's golden butterfly took wing, And left me in deep despair Till there burned in my heart, strange phantom fires, Urging me ever to go — Sail to the Land of Lost Desires Where such carnations grow. We sailed for many nights and days; And still with night again, The bows, of the bold “Bonne Esperais” Plunged deep, in a star-lit main. Away from the coast of Past Regret, An unknown sea sailed we, Till we sighted summer islands set Like jewels in the sea; And there stole to our ears, with sounding wires Of harps played soft and low, The song of the Land of Lost Desires Where white carnations grow, We drifted over the harbor bars 'Twixt atols covered with foam, Lit by the light of long-lost stars, That guided a wanderer home. THE DEAD SUMMER The sapphire blue, that yesterday was over all the sleepy seas that drowsy, dreamy, August lay that insects played, our ears to please has faded, and fallen, and flown away to some far distant southern isle to some far fairer sapphire sea, to where prepetual summers smile on shores of Arcadia. A darker night, will come, you say: Our stars will set, beyond recall, the world is growing cold, and gray young love, will fall as flowers fall but though this summers gone for aye another year, will swallows sing midfields of blossoms, yet unborn tomorrow’s morrow's morrow's morrow morn come moon brought tides, of Spring. Dear little Love, where the daisies grow, hearts of gold in sashes of snow, strip one of pettals, but know, ah know, I love thee truly, what ever they show, Fickle are they, as the winds that blow over your hill sides, high and low, but constant as rocks, that resist the foam, Broad as the spaces, the sea birds roam, deep as its caverns, my love for thee is deep as the caves, of my well loved sea. BY THE RIVER. The farther shore, grows dark against the sky, and the tall chimneys, throw their long, drawn veils athwart the banded clouds, and the light fails slow, as the sleepy silver tide slips by Mainward, the inland stormblown, gray gulls lie. Follow the flow, back to the salt sea, pale they pass. The heavens are lifeless. Not a sail — creeps over. For the river, as the moments fly. And friendships go, as those lost gulls have gone. Visions of Youth, fade as the daylight dies, Old loves are lost, even as sunsets flee O! hurrying footsteps; pause if but for one Brief hour, before yon chilling mist arise. Our tides of Life, are slipping to a sea. EVENING AT THE SHORE. The broad gray beach, at twilight hour Mirrored the glory of the West, Each tiny shell, a lovely flower Glowed on the sand which gave it rest : Till a shadow t covered the sun-kissed land As time, turned with the tide The light on the marsh, and the light on the sand Glimmered, faded, and died. And slowly, through the willow trees Over the horizon line afar, Over the swell, on the sunken bar, The moon rose, out of the Eastern seas. OUR CENTURY The nymphs, and naiads, are dead, ah dead! Love lies low in a vale of June Romance, and May, have fled, ah fled, Colder the world grows, rune by rune Ragnarock falling, soon too soon, Wild waves calling, earth’s race is sped The nymphs, and naiads, are dead, ah dead! Love lies low in a vale of June Falls in fragments, the roses red Sinks in silence, the harper’s tune Ceases the chantry, sung or said, White, and lifeless, the lovers moon The nymphs, and naiads, are dead, ah dead! Love lies low, in a vale of June. LOVE UNRETURNED Love that should be dead, yet is undying Unquenchable affection, formed in vain Forgetment, whose prayers, are pearls of pain Uselessly all, from Cupid's altar crying Oh, would some kindly god, but hear their sighing Wasted, and withered, on the fiery fane And bid descend, the cooling letheal rain, Forgetfulness, for hopeless longing buying Ah, could our dream wove fancies, all fulfill Their delicate, and star-wraught destiny; Ah, would the way, were only just the will, Sailing successful o'er a summer sea, With laughter, song, and all transcendent light For cold indifference, forms the darkest night. SWAN SONG I sat on sand dune, surmounting the sea, Weaving a web of dreams: Working into it, tide, and times The shadowy sons, from far-off climes Each hour, a moment seems O'er head the bended blue, To the east, the circle of sea White against the sky the blossoms grew Over their heads, and wan in hue The little white cloudlets flee Over the glittering sand, The mirage fancies go Cast on the seagirt land, As the gifts, and spoils, of the flow Till heart, and brain together Follow the sun-lit beams And cannot stay, but are born away On a rainbow tide of dreams On in a star-strewn fancy Of future, fancy free. As dreams adrift forever On a lazy summer sea Visions, of long gone years Things, that were once despised Place them in pearls, the tears For a past, that is idolized Oh languid loves, no more to lie All lazy where the clouds drift by: Over the gardens, and the graves Hidden below cold ocean caves Where the dull groundswell, moans and raves And frothy foam-heads, fleck the waves Oh, could ten thousand summers pass Ere one blue blade, dried in your grass! Oh, could ten thousand seasons die Ere one sweet star, dimmed in your sky! Dreams; drift away The ceaseless tides Bear far, and ever, Far from me Your outbound sails A river glides Into, but never Back, from sea Glourious galleys, They dip, and flee With the last dying Solar ray: Night will cover The shore, and sea, And hope; low lying Dies with day Slowly, the luster departed: Slowly, the daylight died: Slowly, the full flood tide Turned as if broken hearted Back, to his caverns cold, Returned, to his caves as of old Drawn by the full-faced moon, Just rising out of the main The hours of Evil again Exalted, conquered the day And carried my visions away. PHYLLIS. Good morrow, Phyllis! Does the carriage wait, Your pleasure, on this merry morning tide? You will drive off, so soon with Fluff beside, Brave, in be-ribboned, collared C canine, state, I shall be left ravished, disconsolate; Less than a dog, who every day does ride, The pet of such a mistress, in her pride. What fluffy Pom, could growl, at such a fate? The equipage, comes slowly down the drive, The coachman, cracks his surly whip. Your fair Eyes, veiled by heavy lids, see me afar. I nearer press; for recognition strive. A smile, a rosselike blush, framed in blonde hair, A seashell once, I think, pined for a star. REVERIE The sad suns set, by our lost seas, That rim our coasts, of Yesterday The warm winds wave, our filmy trees Against blue skies. From far away Unbidden fancies, pause to play On harps, sweet strains, from long ago Which bring the tears, though they be gay Those softening tears. Is it not so, A halo, hangs above the past And every pleasant place, long same Each grace, each face, the least, and last Is vanished gladness, that was thine. THE SONG OF THE WANDERER. O, wind, from a thousand isles Flung, over a Southern sea. From a thousand blossoms Rich, and red, where Summer smiles, And the tufted head Sways, on each tall palm tree. O, wind from a thousand hills. Swung, over a Northern plain. From a thousand valleys I have known, on roads of coral And roads of stone. Behold! I am young again O, warmth, of a summer sun, O, chill, of an autumn rain, O, ploughed up furrow, in Time  frost, O, white, of a winter snow, From a thousand pleasures Lived, and lost, in days of plenty, A shining host, Blow! Wind of Memory blow! O, eye, of a single star, Hung bright, in a violet sky. O, lights of a city Seen afar, from rising ground. With that lonely star, And the moon, for company. O, scent of cedar, and pine, O, view, of a purple main, O, Years! I have broken Your hostile line, remembering Hours, past, yet mine! Behold! I am young again! THE LOST STARS Onward I sailed star guided A thousand aens ago Dark space, was all above me Dark space, was far below Downward, looking, downward Between the metal bars Of that strange ship, one sailing Caught glimpses, of strange stars Falling, falling, downward To earth, we fell one night And though I long to see them My stars; are out of sight. THE HOME WINDS Over the hills, where the home winds blow Out of the night, to the morning sea, Down to the shores, where the same tides flow By the warm, white sands, that were dear to me When I was a child. The white sails flee To unknown ports; as of long ago Over the hills, where the home winds blow Out of the night, to the morning sea Ah clear, cold stars, you seem to know Blinking forever so peacefully, Why our pleasant places so barren grow And all is not; as it used to be Over the hills, where the home winds blow Out of the night, to the morning sea. THE CALL OF THE COASTS. The sky’s blue dome, spreads over all, On dim horizons, pearly gray. The ships slip by. Yes, far away, To north, and south, the slow sails crawl Oh! purple main, at close of day, Oh! sea, and air, Oh! sand The call of the coast. and sea, Would I were where, the sea gulls play The coasts, have laid a call on me. 