 | Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman |  |
195
[XXV. By this low fire I often sit to woo]
By this low fire I often sit to wooMemory to bring the days for ever done;
And call the mountains, where our love begun,
And the dear happy woodlands dipped in dew;
And pore upon the landscape, like a book,
But cannot find her: or there rise to me
Gardens and groves in light and shadow outspread:
Or, on a headland far away, I see
Men marching slow in orderly review;
And bayonets flash, as, wheeling from the sun,
Rank after rank give fire; or, sad, I look
On miles of moonlit brine, with many a bed
Of wave-weed heaving,—there, the wet sands shine
And just awash, the low reef lifts its line.
| Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | |