Classic Poem

CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND.


I stand upon the summit of my life,
Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove,
The battle, and the burden: vast, afar
Beyond these weary ways. Behold! the Sea!
The sea o'erswept by clouds and winds and wings;
By thoughts and wishes manifold, whose breath
Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.
Palter no question of the horizon dim--
Cut loose the bark! Such voyage itself is rest,
Majestic motion, unimpeded scope,
A widening heaven, a current without care,
Eternity!--deliverance, promise, course!
Time-tired souls salute thee from the shore.