Sea Poems Part 8

Thro low green Florida keys And greener glades of Florida seas!

And this is all I know, That all in the world worth knowing Is joy like that of the tarpon's leap In air divine with the warm sunshine!

DAWN-BLISS

(_Naples-on-the-Gulf_)

I went out at dawn, Pelicans were fishing, Big-beaked, grey and brown; Little waves were swishing.

Clouds creamed the sky, As sh.e.l.ls creamed the sh.o.r.e; Wild aery hues of beauty Round seemed to pour!

I went out at dawn, Pelicans were floating, Big beaks on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s; Up the sun came boating.

"Ship ahoy!" I cried, To his golden sail.

Bliss-winds of beauty in me Broke--to a gale!

I went out at dawn, Pelicans were winging.

Palms waved pa.s.sion plumes, Beach sands were singing.

Stripped, save of strength, I plunged into the sea And swam, till the bliss of beauty Died away in me.

ATAVISM

I leant out over a ledging cliff and looked down into the sea, Where weed and kelp and dulse swayed, in green translucency; Where the abalone clung to the rock and the star-fish lay about, Purpling the sands that slid away under the silver trout.

And the sea-urchin too was there, and the sea-anemone.

It was a world of watery shapes and hues and wizardry.

And I felt old stirrings wake in me, under the tides of time, Sea-hauntings I had brought with me out of the ancient slime.

And now, as I muse, I cannot rid my senses of the spell That in a tidal trance all things around me drift and swell Under the sea of the Universe, down into which strange eyes Keep peering at me, as I peered, with wonder and surmise.

RE-RECKONING

Two years have gone, and again I stand On the bow of a mighty ship That pushes her way 'twixt sea and stars With soft and dreamy dip.

Two years of labouring, heart and hand, Of waging spirit-wars, Of wondering ever what life is-- And if death heals its scars.

Two years; and again the mast-bell sounds Above me--with a low voice, As ghostly as the white phosphor-foam That breaks with the old noise Of waters that have washed all bounds Of earth, that is man's home-- His ark--on the wide ether flung, Unrestingly to roam.

For, even as we, is this our earth An endless wanderer Far down a universe with vast Strange voyagings astir; And where time ever brings to birth A craving, never past, To fare from where we are, to where No anchor ever was cast.

A craving--in the mote, the man, The mollusc and the star; A yearning on--O life! O life!

How far leads it, how far?

All unbelievably began Our voyage, mid a strange strife-- That, meaningless, yet seems to mean It is with Wisdom rife.

But if it is not, shall we say, "Let man scuttle his ship, And drown in universal death The griefs that at him grip?"

No; for no surety rests therein To certain end of breath.

He can but let hope set the course His soul foretokeneth.

TO THE AFTERNOON MOON, AT SEA

Take care, O wisp of a moon, Vague on the sunny blue above the sea, Or the gull flying across you Will pierce your veil-thin shape with a sharp wing!

Take care, or the wind will wilt you, As he does the clouds snowily drifting by you, And diffuse you over the sky, a silvery mist, To give more cool to the day!

Take care, so near the horizon, Or a phantom skipper, one who has long been drowned, Will reach above it and seize you And make you his sail to circle the world forever!

Take care, take care! for frailty Is the prey of the strong, and you, a wraith of it, Have yet a long while to go before nightfall Brings you to sure effulgence!

PATHS

Crushing in my hand The bay as I pa.s.s, Drinking in its fragrance With the sea's scent, While gull-wings write Poems white and fast On the blue sky That is soft with content; Crushing in my hand The bay and the juniper, While I record Each line the gulls write, I go by sea paths Down to the sea's edge, I go by heart paths Deep into delight.

Simple is my joy As the little sandpiper's, Who follows beside me With silvery song; Blither than the breeze, That skims great billows Nor knows how deep Is their flow--or strong.

Simple is my joy, A sunny sense-sweetness, Full of bird-bliss, Bay-warmth, spray-leap.

Mysteries there are And miseries beneath it, But sunk, like wrecks, Far down in the deep.

FROM A NORTHERN BEACH

Is it because for a million years The tide has entered here From cold north seas Where ice-floes freeze That ever unto my ear Primordial loneness in its voice Comes telling of that time When life was not, upon the earth, But only glacier-rime?

Is it because these granite rocks I share with weed and scurf Were held so long By the ice-throng That now they take the surf So selflessly and soullessly, As if G.o.d's Immanence Had been pressed from them, never more To enter, with sweet sense?

And is it because I, too, evolved From ice and sea and sh.o.r.e, Can understand How life has spanned The lifeless ages o'er, That as I sit here, suddenly The tide again seems stilled And earth beneath a great white pall Again lies changed and chilled?

So it must be--ah, so; for soft Within my muted brain The heritage Of age on age Reverberates again.

Wherefore when glacial Silence comes With Death shall I emerge From that as from the frozen Past, Under Life's endless urge?