Wealth of silver and magicry;And the harbor is like to an ebon cupWith mother-o’-pearl to the lips lined up,And brimmed with the wine of entranced delight,Purple and rare, from the flagon of night.Lo, in the east is a glamor and gleam,Like waves that lap on the shores of dream,Or voice their lure in a poet’s…
There’s a joyous voice in the lapsing tideThat calls enticingly;The mist of dawn has taken flightTo the dim horizon’s bound,And with wide sails set and eager heartsWe’re off to the fishing ground.Ho, comrades mine, how that brave wind singsLike a great sea-harp afar!We whistle its wild notes back to itAs we cross the harbor bar.Behind…
Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow,Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow.Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps showingLucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing;‘Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered roaming,Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and…
And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil presageOf a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour north-eastern sky.Slowly the pale mists rise, like ghosts of the sea, in the offing,Creeping all wan and chilly by headland and sunken reef,And a wind is wailing and keening like a lost thing…
And all the great boughs of the pines betweenIt is harping a lone and hungering strainTo the eldritch weeping of the rain;And then to the wild, wet valley flyingIt is seeking, sighing,Something lost in the summer olden.When night was silver and day was golden;But out on the shore the waves are moaningWith ancient and never…
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lieCradling the twilight, where the lone winds blowAnd wake among the harps of leafless treesFantastic runes and mournful melodies.The chilly purple air is threaded throughWith silver from the rising moon afar,And from a gulf of clear, unfathomed blueIn the southwest glimmers a great gold starAbove the darkening druid…
I feelVery muchLike takingIts unholy perpetratorsBy the hairOf their heads(If they have any hair)And dragging them aroundA few times,And then cutting themInto small, irregular piecesAnd burying themIn the depths of the blue sea.They are without formAnd void,/ Or at leastThe stuff they/ produceIs./ They are too lazyTo hunt up rhymes;And thatIs allThat is the matter…
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe questO’er whispering wold and hill.Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keepWhere milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea,They shall be ours in the moon’s wizardry,While the fates, wearied, sleep.The viewless spirit of the wind will singIn the soft starshine by the reedy mere,The elfin harps of hemlock…
And the dawn’s white light is threading once moreThe purple firs in the landward valleys,While yet the arms of the wide gray seaAre cradling the sunrise that is to be,The fisherman’s boat, through the mist afar,Has sailed in the wake of the morning star.The wind in his cordage and canvas singsIts old glad song of…
Blows the wild wind, roaming rejoicinglyThis wilderness of God;And the tall firs that all day long have flungBalsamic odors where the sunshine burned,Chant to its harping primal epics learnedWhen this old world was young.Beyond the lake, white, girdling peaks upliftUntroubled brows to virgin skies afar,And o’er the uncertain water glimmers driftOf fitful cloud and star.Sure…
