Classic Poem

I

Day sinks all weary on his mountain bed,
Fainting in glory; athwart the golden air
Slant swords of sunshine touch the tree-tops fair,
That all their leaves flame soft and dusky red,
The length'ning shadows of the hills are shed
O'er plain and meadow; scarce the breezes dare
Break the soft silence murmuring or e'er
Their lord the sun hath veil'd his sovran head.
All earth smiles sweetly, by new-waken'd spring
Woo'd gently with soft amorous whispering.
Yet would that I were where the mighty three,
Sun, wind and sea, their hymn eternal sing,
To face the mighty ocean winds and see
Sunlit the sacred waves so wild and free.

II

Ah, that I were where wooded headlands steep
Frown o'er the ocean, at their rocky feet
Laughing for joy of summer, by the sweet
And fragrant breezes softly kist asleep.
Yea, e'en were I where o'er the wintry deep
Surging in foaming fury from the beat
Of winged eastern blasts, so fierce and fleet,
The rugged ramparts of the waters weep.
That thence, O sea my mother, I might hear
Thine ancient song of ages to mine ear
Sweeter than all the mild earth's melodies;
Thy hymn's deep organ-note in rock-ribb'd caves
Reverberate; the wild wail of thy waves
Perfect with passion and pain that never dies;

III

Thy song, O mother fair, O mother kind,
The chant of pride and passion and joy that rung
In Homer's ears while yet the earth was young
When by the Ionian shore he walk'd, the blind
Hoar bard of Chios, and heard the Thracian wind
From Rhodope and Strymon storming strong,
With revel and war of rapture loud and long
And ruin and ravel and wreckage strewn behind.
Thy lips spoke to his heart, albeit his eyes
Were sightless; all thy thund'rous melodies,
Thy softer smiles and laughter and love he sung,
Thy murmurs, and thy wilder wails and cries,
So breathe, O sea, thy perfume in my song
Who sing the last and least thy bards among.

IV

This song of mine to thee, O mother sea,
Thou hoary with the foam of untold years,
Salt as the bitter dew of widow'd tears,
I, least of all thy children, chant to thee,
With lips untun'd to loftier poesie
Weak words and faint I whisper in thine ears,
Thou emblem of man's soul, its hopes and fears,
Its passions and desires untam'd and free,
Wild as thy billows that 'neath wintry lash
All white with savage rapture foam and dash.
Yet take it thou, O sea belov'd of me,
This firstling of my song untrain'd and rash,
This token of thy son's love; and in fee
Set free my soul, O mother, as thine is free.