Classic Poem

Did you ever note the beauty of the soft New England grasses,
— All the ochres, reds and browns;
And the flowers: the purple asters and the goldenrod's rich masses
— With the cardinals' flaming gowns,
Dots of blood against the tangle of the reedy lone morasses
Where the nodding cat-tails rustle under every wind that passes?
— Ah! what reticent depth of color,
— Growing brighter, growing duller,
As a smile of sunlight broadens or a gloomy storm-cloud frowns.

Have you read the blazoned glory of the sunset's revelations,
— Glowing scarlet streaked with gold;
Or observed the crumbling sky-towers cleft by radiant fulgurations,
— Ruins gorgeous to behold?
While the East is hung with tapestries in dove-serene gradations
And the naked vault of heaven is touched with vivid variations,
— Where in all the world resplendent
— Or the poet's mind transcendent
Can such miracles be imaged, form so grand or hue so bold?

Have you watched the dreamy progress of a gray New England schooner
— Drifting seaward with the tide
Darkly down a line of radiance, dawn-bright gold or silvery lunar,
— Ribbon narrow or ocean wide?
Such a boat in such a background I will paint you ten times sooner
Than a lily-perfect yacht with drooping topsail and ballooner.
— No, for me the old-time vessel
— In a land-locked bay to nestle
Till the light breeze flaps her stay-sail and the light wave laps her side.

Have you shrunk before the grimness of the rugged 'long-shore ledges
— Where the groundswell surf rolls in
Round the battlemented coast-line with its walls and bastion wedges?
— Hark! the cave-resounded din
As a breaker smites the granite with the strength of giant sledges
And a swaying fringe of foam enfolds the dark cliff's dripping edges.
— Readily will other nations
— Yield a sheaf of sharp sensations,
But the landscape of New England holds a rapture hard to win.