[Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) being scattered chapters from the history of the Cooper, Pomeroy, Woolson and Benedict families, with extracts From their Letters and Journals, as well as articles and poems by Constance Fenimore Woolson |
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LAKE ERIE IN SEPTEMBER. |
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 | [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) |  |
LAKE ERIE IN SEPTEMBER.
Oh, gray and sullen sky! Oh, gray and sullen beaches!
Oh, gray and sullen billows, coming rolling, rolling in!
Oh, are ye not aweary of chill September dreary,
With days so gray the earth knows not when its gray nights begin?
Oh, gray and sullen billows, coming rolling, rolling in!
Oh, are ye not aweary of chill September dreary,
With days so gray the earth knows not when its gray nights begin?
All through the summer noons, all through the summer twilights,
Came the vessels, snowy winged, gayly sailing, sailing by;
Your waters then were dancing, your beaches gold were glancing,
While the south wind blew the sunbeams and moonbeams through the sky.
Came the vessels, snowy winged, gayly sailing, sailing by;
Your waters then were dancing, your beaches gold were glancing,
While the south wind blew the sunbeams and moonbeams through the sky.
At times the east wind came, the east wind off the ocean,
And vessels from Ontario went sweeping, sweeping past—
From prairies blew the west wind, of all the winds the best wind,
And Huron's fleet went scudding down the lake upon its blast.
And vessels from Ontario went sweeping, sweeping past—
From prairies blew the west wind, of all the winds the best wind,
And Huron's fleet went scudding down the lake upon its blast.
But now your winds are still, your sluggish waves are sullen,
The cheerless rain, nor fast nor slow, is dropping, dropping down;
The beach below is soggy, the air above is foggy,
And one dark ship, with ragged sail, is lying off the town.
The cheerless rain, nor fast nor slow, is dropping, dropping down;
The beach below is soggy, the air above is foggy,
And one dark ship, with ragged sail, is lying off the town.
Oh, gray and sullen sky! Oh, gray and sullen beaches!
Why lie ye here in lethargy, all glooming, glooming pale?
If not the summer's soft rest, then why not have the tempest?
If ye cannot have the zephyr, then why not have the gale?
Why lie ye here in lethargy, all glooming, glooming pale?
If not the summer's soft rest, then why not have the tempest?
If ye cannot have the zephyr, then why not have the gale?
And since the summer's gone, gray sky to winter darken,
And shadow all these sullen waves to inky, inky black—
Let these dull forests bristle, as loud the fierce winds whistle,
And sweep that one dark ship, a wreck, adown the foaming track.
And shadow all these sullen waves to inky, inky black—
Let these dull forests bristle, as loud the fierce winds whistle,
And sweep that one dark ship, a wreck, adown the foaming track.
Wake up, wake up, O Lake! and lash your sluggish waters
In fury, till your whole expanse is raging, raging mad—
Well may it be wrong-doing if it but be strong-doing!
Give us one thing or the other: strong! whether good or bad.
In fury, till your whole expanse is raging, raging mad—
Well may it be wrong-doing if it but be strong-doing!
Give us one thing or the other: strong! whether good or bad.
For the very heart is sad with this monotone of Nature,
The very soul is palsied with this half-drawn, half-drawn breath;
A gray sky is most dreary, a gray life the most weary,
If all our sunny life is gone, then forth! to fight with Death.
The very soul is palsied with this half-drawn, half-drawn breath;
A gray sky is most dreary, a gray life the most weary,
If all our sunny life is gone, then forth! to fight with Death.
| [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) | |