POETRY.
THE WINTER SEA.
THE gladness of sunshine and summer Has perished, and Nature's afret, For winter, a surly new-comer, Is ruling with hoar coronet ; The woodlands are weary and lonely, And winter, unfettered and free, Lies not in the landward ways only— But sways all the sea.
The sea that we loved in the May-time, And worshipped in rose-covered June, That glimmered and glowed in the daytime, Low lisping her languorous tune ; Her voice has grown careworn and hollow, The sunlight has died on her brow ; Her tides that the gulls once did follow Are desolate now !
Those slow tides that, slumb'rous and dreaming, Lay under yon cliff cleft and hoar, When the red ray of summer was gleaming,— Now break with a rash and a roar, Or murmur in infinite sadness,— Can these be the tides we did see, When we laughed with the summer in gladness. Light-hearted and free ?
No yachts on the sea—but a steamer That's ploughing its wearisome way ; No soul on the beach—but a dreamer In love with the desolate bay; No blue in the sky—but the firmer Black belt of a cloud boding rain ; No joy in the waves—but the murmur As of men in their pain.
No soft summer wind—but the bluster Of gusts from the northernmost height ; No bird-life at all—but a cluster Of seagulls reluctant of flight ; No life in the port—but a dreary Dark atmosphere everywhere ; No joy in my heart—but the weary Wild winter of care ! FRED. J. Cox.
Previous page
