Classic Poem

The pale green wave breaks on the curving shore,
Burned white beneath the clear hot sun of spring.
The soft sound is a fairy ocean's roar.
An awkward bird floats on a lazy wing.
Beneath the feet I crush the little shells,
Pink, delicate and perfect, carved in light,
And watch the silver fish that leap the swells,
Dripping with jeweled water in their flight.

You never saw this iridescent land,
This unreal ocean and imagined sky,
Or sifted with slow fingers this fine sand,
Or, startled, watched the soaring heron fly
Against the low hung stars. Yet everywhere
I find your foot-print on this shining air.

Walk with the western wind over this sea
Companioned by that spirit whom you knew
Too well to brook the infidelity
Which time and space were asking as their due.
Now touching light-tipped fingers to the clouds,
And airy feet above a cresting wave,
Fling to the sunset glow your thin worn shrouds, —
You two shall know no dry nor watery grave.

But where the polished nacre glows within
A shell, where violet clouds bring down the rain,
Or where the bubble moon is blown too thin,
And stars are drowned, you yet shall live again, —
Live in the lyric pulse, remembering,
Singing to soar, and soaring still to sing!