 | Poems |  |
119
AT MORNING.
I
New from yon choirs of sparklings far away,Fresh with the South, and smelling of the sea,
Oh, how this young breeze pours clean into me
The gladness of the childhood of the day!
The floating pearl-lights twinkle and dip and play
O'er all the soft smooth sea-blue, fast and free;
Whilst the tide's influence makes deliciously
Music and laughter in the little bay,
With ripple of song, in shoreward, glistening quick,
Live glass o'er clearest sands seen under it,
And there amongst yon low rocks leaping sweet
In coral-shapen blossom of tender spray,
Low-gurgling with loose wash of foam-music,
Drunk with the deep child-gladness of the day!
120
II
Oh, morning joy! oh, fresh sea-scented air!Where is the broken joy thou canst not heal,
Which thought and doubt have racked and torn piecemeal?
Ah, breeze, breathe on, breathe hither and slake my care!
The summer sea's evangel with thee bear;
Into mine inmost spirit let it steal!
Yea, breeze, breathe on, breathe hither, and make me feel
All the sea's summer in my lifted hair!
No thought is needed by thy felt delight
To mediate betwixt us. Oh, June air,
Thy certain rapture thrills me through and through—
A conquering joy that puts all doubt to flight.
False let it be—if truth be anywhere,
This sweet delusion at the least is true.
An. æt. 19.
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