 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
370
A COUNTRY'S GHOST.
Some long dead Country's Ghost it surely is
Which haunts these Western waters, — strange and bright
With dazzling gold of the sun's setting light:
Fair hills and fields it shows, but more than this
We may not know, since all its bane and bliss
Lie hidden in its cities out of sight,—
Strange cities, haply wrapt in sleep and night,
Where phantom lovers come again to kiss:
Which haunts these Western waters, — strange and bright
With dazzling gold of the sun's setting light:
Fair hills and fields it shows, but more than this
We may not know, since all its bane and bliss
Lie hidden in its cities out of sight,—
Strange cities, haply wrapt in sleep and night,
Where phantom lovers come again to kiss:
Or Ghosts of weary men by stealth come back
To climb the silent by-ways noiselessly,—
Those ancient ways which no more dream of change,
Where still, I think, dead with their dead must range—
Ghost! seen a moment in the low sun's track,
Now hidden again in the concealing sea.
To climb the silent by-ways noiselessly,—
Those ancient ways which no more dream of change,
Where still, I think, dead with their dead must range—
Ghost! seen a moment in the low sun's track,
Now hidden again in the concealing sea.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |