 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
HORIZON.
Secluded and embowered to be
Under a whispering maple-tree,
That holds a nest, a flit of wings,
'Mid manifold leaf-flutterings,—
Ah! peace and bliss of summer!
Yet every wind-waft that goes by
Must leave an opening to the sky,
And every bough that lifts must show
A space of sea, a sunset-glow,
A glimpse of wide horizon.
Under a whispering maple-tree,
That holds a nest, a flit of wings,
'Mid manifold leaf-flutterings,—
Ah! peace and bliss of summer!
Yet every wind-waft that goes by
Must leave an opening to the sky,
And every bough that lifts must show
A space of sea, a sunset-glow,
A glimpse of wide horizon.
Rest, lacking outlook, is not rest;
Close into our own boundaries pressed,
Our palaces have prison-walls,
Our moneyed poverty appalls,
Our millions count for nothing.
Our creed must have its break of doubt,
Where thought may sometimes flutter out,
And all the vast Beyond flow in;
The threshold where our hopes begin
To climb, is our horizon.
Close into our own boundaries pressed,
Our palaces have prison-walls,
Our moneyed poverty appalls,
Our millions count for nothing.
Our creed must have its break of doubt,
Where thought may sometimes flutter out,
And all the vast Beyond flow in;
The threshold where our hopes begin
To climb, is our horizon.
Though rarely, unto me and you,
May mountain vistas bound the view,
Or the sea's glamour lead us on,
Through mystery into mystery drawn—
Even hints are revelations:
The star-edged shadow of a leaf
On sunnier foliage brings a brief
Suggestion of light's ungauged sea
To our dim covert; gives our tree
Its universe-horizon.
May mountain vistas bound the view,
Or the sea's glamour lead us on,
Through mystery into mystery drawn—
Even hints are revelations:
The star-edged shadow of a leaf
On sunnier foliage brings a brief
Suggestion of light's ungauged sea
To our dim covert; gives our tree
Its universe-horizon.
In that faint breeze that stirs the bough
I hear the great aerial plough
Furrowing the sky-fields, east and west:
Sphere-music overflows the nest
Of yon home-keeping robin.
And in the sob that stole to me
From the vast anguish of the sea,
I felt the restless wastes of soul,—
Life's fragments, moaning for the Whole:
The ear hath its horizon.
I hear the great aerial plough
Furrowing the sky-fields, east and west:
Sphere-music overflows the nest
Of yon home-keeping robin.
And in the sob that stole to me
From the vast anguish of the sea,
253
Life's fragments, moaning for the Whole:
The ear hath its horizon.
Though never barrier may enclose
The sturdy thought that climbs and grows;
Though glimpsed the whole is in the least;
Though healthy relish makes the feast;
Yet man may pine and dwindle:
And thus he wins distrust and dole;
Shutting the windows of his soul,
Kindling his little farthing-light,
And counting all without him night,
Himself his sole horizon.
The sturdy thought that climbs and grows;
Though glimpsed the whole is in the least;
Though healthy relish makes the feast;
Yet man may pine and dwindle:
And thus he wins distrust and dole;
Shutting the windows of his soul,
Kindling his little farthing-light,
And counting all without him night,
Himself his sole horizon.
In life's large invitation blest,
We seek a west beyond the west,
Whose boundless prairie-billows run
Towards grander beckonings of the sun;
Man must explore, forever:
His heaven no limit has, no bars;
Yet, setting sail for unknown stars,
Green earth is to his footfall sweet:
These two his blessedness complete,—
A home and a horizon.
We seek a west beyond the west,
Whose boundless prairie-billows run
Towards grander beckonings of the sun;
Man must explore, forever:
His heaven no limit has, no bars;
Yet, setting sail for unknown stars,
Green earth is to his footfall sweet:
These two his blessedness complete,—
A home and a horizon.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |