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Evening
THE AIR is chill, and the day grows late, | |
| And the clouds come in through the Golden Gate: | |
| Phantom fleets they seem to me, | |
| From a shoreless and unsounded sea; | |
| Their shadowy spars and misty sails, | 5 |
| Unshattered, have weathered a thousand gales: | |
| Slow wheeling, lo! in squadrons gray, | |
| They part, and hasten along the bay; | |
| Each to its anchorage finding way. | |
| Where the hills of Saucelito swell, | 10 |
| Many in gloom may shelter well; | |
| And others—behold—unchallenged pass | |
| By the silent guns of Alcatraz: | |
| No greetings of thunder and flame exchange | |
| The armèd isle and the cruisers strange. | 15 |
| Their meteor flags, so widely blown, | |
| Were blazoned in a land unknown; | |
| So, charmed from war or wind or tide, | |
| Along the quiet wave they glide. | |
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| What bear these ships?—what news, what freight, | 20 |
| Do they bring us through the Golden Gate? | |
| Sad echoes to words in gladness spoken, | |
| And withered hopes to the poor heart-broken: | |
| Oh, how many a venture we | |
| Have rashly sent to the shoreless sea! | 25 |
| How many an hour have you and I, | |
| Sweet friend, in sadness seen go by, | |
| While our eager, longing thoughts were roving | |
| Over the waste, for something loving, | |
| Something rich and chaste and kind, | 30 |
| To brighten and bless a lonely mind; | |
| And only waited to behold | |
| Ambition’s gems, affection’s gold, | |
| Return as remorse, and a broken vow, | |
| In such ships of mist as I see now. | 35 |
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| The air is chill, and the day grows late, | |
| And the clouds come in through the Golden Gate, | |
| Freighted with sorrow, heavy with woe;— | |
| But these shapes that cluster, dark and low, | |
| To-morrow shall be all aglow! | 40 |
| In the blaze of the coming morn these mists, | |
| Whose weight my heart in vain resists, | |
| Will brighten and shine, and soar to heaven, | |
| In thin white robes, like souls forgiven; | |
| For Heaven is kind, and everything, | 45 |
| As well as a winter, has a spring. | |
| So, praise to God! who brings the day | |
| That shines our regrets and fears away; | |
| For the blessed morn I can watch and wait, | |
| While the clouds come in through the Golden Gate. | 50 |
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