Alexander Frederick Bruce Clark (b. 1884)

WHEN the shore recedes like a world thrust off,

And the wind herds the ripples like sheep aflee,

I ship my oars, and, stretched out, I let

The water and wind take my boat and me.

Oh, floating along

To the water’s song

While the wavelets gurgle and ripple and cream,

And the fish curve forth in a watery gleam,

And the kingfisher dives and the white gulls scream,

And the clouds drift all day long.

Lo, into the sunset-gates of light

I float in evenings clear and cool,

Where the clouds like water-lilies white

Seem lolling asleep in a golden pool.

Oh, floating along

To the water’s song

While the sun sheathes his golden sword in the lake,

And every wave is a burning flake,

And guitars in tremulous tones awake

And echo the evening long.

And I in those secret places go

Where the shy, young stars come forth at night,

To see themselves in the lake’s deep glass

When darkness has banished the curious light.

Oh, floating along

To the water’s song

When the lake is a palace of pillared fires,

Or a city of churches with silver spires

Drowned for aeons with cross and choirs

That still chant all night long.