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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
393
UNDESCRIED.
When from her far New World she sailed away,
Right out into the sea-winds and the sea,
Did no foreshadowing of good to be
Surprise my heart? That memorable day
Did I, unwitting, rise, think, do, and say,
As on a day of no import to me?
Did Hope awake no least low melody,—
Send forth no sign my wandering steps to stay?
Right out into the sea-winds and the sea,
Did no foreshadowing of good to be
Surprise my heart? That memorable day
Did I, unwitting, rise, think, do, and say,
As on a day of no import to me?
Did Hope awake no least low melody,—
Send forth no sign my wandering steps to stay?
Oh, could our souls catch music of far things
From some lone height of being undescried,
Then had I heard the song the sea-wind sings
The waves; and through the stress of storm and tide,
As soft as sleep, and pure as lonely springs,
Her voice, wherein all sweetnesses abide.
From some lone height of being undescried,
Then had I heard the song the sea-wind sings
The waves; and through the stress of storm and tide,
As soft as sleep, and pure as lonely springs,
Her voice, wherein all sweetnesses abide.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |