A STRIP OF BLUE. They veer to the rosy ray; They dusk to the violet shade; Like a thought they flit away; Like a foolish hope, they fade. But listen! a sudden plash! A ship is heaving in sight, With a stir, and a noisy dash Of the salt-foam, seething white. Tar-grimed and weather-stained, The sailors shout from her deck: Naught of the sky blue-veined, Or the dreamy waves they reck. And the sunburnt girl who stands Where her feet on the wet wrack slip,Eyes shaded with lithe, brown hands, I She sees but the coming ship. A STRIP OF BLUE. Do not own an inch of land; Lucy Larcom. The orchards and the mowing fields The lawns and gardens fine. 99 Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies: I freight them with my untold dreams; My ships that sail into the east Sometimes they seem like living shapes, The people of the sky, Guests in white raiment, coming down From heaven, which is close by: I call them by familiar names, From violet mists they bloom! Are half reclaimed from gloom, Since on Life's hospitable sea All souls find sailing-room. The ocean grows a weariness With nothing else in sight; Its east and west, its north and south, A STRIP OF BLUE. A part is greater than the whole; God's sweeping garment-fold, In that bright shred of glimmering sea, The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, The waves are broken precious stones,- Washed from celestial basement walls, Out through the utmost gates of space, Here sit I as a little child : The threshold of God's door Is that clear band of chrysoprase : The universe, O God! is home, Glad when is opened to my need ΙΟΙ Lucy Larcom. LAND-LOCKED. OLACK lie the hills, swiftly doth daylight flee, B And catching gleams of sunset's dying smile, Through the dusk land for many a changing mile The river runneth softly to the sea. O happy river, could I follow thee! O yearning heart, that never can be still! Have patience,-here are flowers and songs of birds, Neither am I ungrateful :-but I dream To feel the wind sea-scented on my cheek, Celia Thaxter O YE KEEN BREEZES! 103 O YE KEEN BREEZES! YE keen breezes from the salt Atlantic, Which to the beach, where memory loves to On your strong pinions waft reviving coolness, For, in the surf ye scattered to the sunshine Then to the meadows beautiful and fragrant, There under elm-trees affluent in foliage, High o'er whose summit hovered the sea-eagle, Through the hot, glaring noontide have we rested After our gambols. Vainly the sailor called you from your slumber : Like a glazed pavement shone the level ocean; While, with the snow-white canvas idly drooping, Stood the tall vessels. And when, at length, exulting ye awakened, Rushed to the beach, and ploughed the liquid acres, How have I chased you through the shivered billows, In my frail shallop! |