| |
| I DO not own an inch of land, | |
| But all I see is mine,— | |
| The orchard and the mowing-fields, | |
| The lawns and gardens fine. | |
| The winds my tax-collectors are, | 5 |
| They bring me tithes divine,— | |
| Wild scents and subtle essences, | |
| A tribute rare and free; | |
| And, more magnificent than all, | |
| My window keeps for me | 10 |
| A glimpse of blue immensity,— | |
| A little strip of sea. | |
| |
| Richer am I than he who owns | |
| Great fleets and argosies; | |
| I have a share in every ship | 15 |
| Won by the inland breeze, | |
| To loiter on yon airy road | |
| Above the apple-trees. | |
| I freight them with my untold dreams; | |
| Each bears my own picked crew; | 20 |
| And nobler cargoes wait for them | |
| Than ever India knew,— | |
| My ships that sail into the East | |
| Across that outlet blue. | |
| |
| Sometimes they seem like living shapes,— | 25 |
| The people of the sky,— | |
| Guests in white raiment coming down | |
| From heaven, which is close by; | |
| I call them by familiar names, | |
| As one by one draws nigh. | 30 |
| So white, so light, so spirit-like, | |
| From violet mists they bloom! | |
| The aching wastes of the unknown | |
| Are half reclaimed from gloom, | |
| Since on life’s hospitable sea | 35 |
| All souls find sailing-room. | |
| |
| The ocean grows a weariness | |
| With nothing else in sight; | |
| Its east and west, its north and south, | |
| Spread out from morn till night; | 40 |
| We miss the warm, caressing shore, | |
| Its brooding shade and light. | |
| A part is greater than the whole; | |
| By hints are mysteries told. | |
| The fringes of eternity,— | 45 |
| God’s sweeping garment-fold, | |
| In that bright shred of glittering sea, | |
| I reach out for and hold. | |
| |
| The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, | |
| Float in upon the mist; | 50 |
| The waves are broken precious stones,— | |
| Sapphire and amethyst | |
| Washed from celestial basement walls, | |
| By suns unsetting kist. | |
| Out through the utmost gates of space, | 55 |
| Past where the gray stars drift, | |
| To the widening Infinite, my soul | |
| Glides on, a vessel swift, | |
| Yet loses not her anchorage | |
| In yonder azure rift. | 60 |
| |
| Here sit I, as a little child; | |
| The threshold of God’s door | |
| Is that clear band of chrysoprase; | |
| Now the vast temple floor, | |
| The blinding glory of the dome | 65 |
| I bow my head before. | |
| Thy universe, O God, is home, | |
| In height or depth, to me; | |
| Yet here upon thy footstool green | |
| Content am I to be; | 70 |
| Glad when is oped unto my need | |
| Some sea-like glimpse of Thee. | |
| |
