| |
| CLEAR noon without obscurity, | |
| No flake of cloud ’twixt heaven and me; | |
| No mist athwart the Golden Gate: | |
| The hearty sun doth wilfully | |
| His profuse beams precipitate. | 5 |
| |
| I cling to humpèd rocks that kneel | |
| On unswept sands, where breakers reel | |
| In splendid curves, and pile their foam | |
| In spongy hills, that slow congeal, | |
| And dulse and drift-wood find a home. | 10 |
| |
| We clasp the silver crescent set | |
| Within the hazy parapet | |
| That belts the horizon: in glee | |
| I count the fitful puffs that fret | |
| The eternal levels of the sea. | 15 |
| |
| I watch the waves that seem to breathe | |
| And pant unceasingly beneath | |
| Their silken coverings, that cringe, | |
| As flecked with swirls of froth, they seethe, | |
| And whip, and flutter to a fringe. | 20 |
| |
| Brown pipers run upon the sand | |
| Like shadows; far out from the land | |
| Gray gulls slide up against the blue; | |
| One shining spar is sudden manned | |
| By squadrons of their wrecking crew. | 25 |
| |
| My city is beyond the hill; | |
| I cannot hear its voices shrill: | |
| I little heed its gains and greeds: | |
| Here is my song, where waters spill | |
| Their liquid strophes in the reeds. | 30 |
| |
| And to this music I forswear | |
| Whatever soils the world with care: | |
| I see the listless waters toss,— | |
| I track the swift lark through the air,— | |
| I lie with sunlight on the moss. | 35 |
| |
| White caravans of cloud go by | |
| Across the desert of bright sky, | |
| And burly winds are following | |
| The trailing pilgrims, as they fly | |
| Over the grassy hills of spring. | 40 |
| |
| What Mecca are they hastening to? | |
| What princess journeying to woo | |
| In the rich Orient? I am thrilled | |
| With spice and odor they imbue,— | |
| I feed upon their manna spilled! | 45 |
| |
| I strip my breast with eager mind, | |
| To tarry and invite the wind | |
| To my embrace: by curious spell | |
| It quickens me with praises kind,— | |
| ’T is Ariel that blows his shell! | 50 |
| |
| Invisible, and soft as dews | |
| Descending, he his love renews, | |
| Delighting daisy colonies | |
| That gloss them with the lustrous ooze | |
| Of meadows steeped in ecstasies. | 55 |
| |
| Until the homely, sunburnt Heads, | |
| The tumbling hills, in browns and reds, | |
| And gray sand-hillocks, everywhere | |
| Are buried in the mist that sheds | |
| Its subtle snow upon the air. | 60 |
| |
| And Prospero, aroused from sleep, | |
| Recalls his spirits from the deep,— | |
| They cross the wave with stealthy tread, | |
| Their shadows down upon me sweep,— | |
| And day is past, and joy is fled. | 65 |
| |
| I hear the dismal bells that shout | |
| Their warning to the ships without: | |
| The dripping sails are reefed and furled, | |
| The pilots sound and grope about,— | |
| The Gate is barred against the world! | 70 |
| |
