To Celia Thaxter

By Annie Field

(Died August 26, 1894)

BELOVED, on the shore of this gray world

Thy little bird, the sandpiper, and I

Now stand alone;

And when mine eye

Returned from following thy upward flight,

And found him here, and heard his tone,

And saw the tiny wing unfurled,

(As oft for thee)

I knew thy messenger, ’twas he!

His little cry

Is meek and full of joy in things that lie

Close to our feet;

He speeds along the sands, bidding my sight

Grow keen as thine.

He cries: “O love complete,

Thou hast become the leaf and flower

That whisper now companionship;

O follow, follow

Traveller mine!

Thou, too, shalt step

Into the hand’s-breadth hollow

Thy dust shall claim!

And no fair fame

Shall stead thee when the winds of life shall fall;

Only my call

To the unknown, untried, whither these wings

Now vanish; the fading bower

Can hold and soothe thee not!

O follow, follow,

’Tis Love who sings!

Love, love is here and beckons thee away;

My song leads on, thou canst not go astray!