To sit on the sand and read fine tales,
To follow the slant of the whitened sails,
And the clouds, to the south of the harbor's mouth,
That shift and drift like a shoal of whales.
To watch the waves as they kiss the land,
To catch their foam in one's hollow hand,
To hold it and feel the cool drops steal
Through all one's being as through dry sand.
To laugh with the boys who know nothing of care,
To drift with their skiffs, nobody knows where,
Till, drunken with day-dreams, life's mystery seems
Dissolved in the wine of the slumberous air.
The breeze is soft as the breath of a fan,
But it faints on cheeks that are thin and wan,--
Too thin for the heart's rill ever to fill,
Too pale for the sunshine ever to tan.
Land, ocean, and air--the sun declines,
And twilight, with soft pink fingers, twines
A woof of the three, till one can scarce see
The bound 'tween things earthly and things divine.
Ye fairy ships, and ye ships of air,
That trail with my thoughts beyond life's care,--
With canvas like milk, and sheets of silk,
Stoop down, and I'll sail with thee anywhere!
