Still the old secret ... Sky?
Cloud galleons sailing for some coast of Dream,
And robber winds a-gallop for the gleam
Of Western gold where purple banners fly—
Still the old questing ... Sky?
Still the old bondage ... Heart?
Slave to a beauty that defeats the mind;
Enchained, whose bondage even yet may find
True words, the whole glad wonder to impart
Meaning of Sea and Sky and Thee ... O Heart!
WINDROW.
Old figures in a lane,
Toward the grey church going;
Vines tapping on a pane,
Strong wind blowing.
Old comers by a lane,
Heads bowed and hoary;
Stiff knees and tapping cane,
Wind knows the story.
Old patterns in a lane,
Toward the grey church going;
Follow through veils of rain,
Brown leaves blowing.
Old blooming through the lane,
Pods, grey and brittle;
Wind ... bring all back again—
Young, gay, little!
THE SWIMMER.
Tonight the ocean calls,
The stars respond, wide-scattered through the skies;
Swift through the cool of curling wave he hies,
Who swims far out, nor sees the shore receding—
Only his strength, his long bold measures heeding.
Proud in his power, strong,
From hateful touch of hands that haunt him, free
He plunges forward through dark wastes of sea,
Passionate in the careless joy of roaming
Through billowed gulfs, forgetful of his homing.