WONDERING
Leaning on the midnight rail,
Looking o’er the sea,
Winking at the little stars,
While they wink at me.
Wondering how it happened
Ages long ago,
Wondering why I’m here to night—
Wondering where I’ll go.
Wondering how the Scorpion
Bends his mighty tail,
Wondering if the Archer’s aim
Makes Antares quail:
Wondering why Australia’s Crown
Happened to be made,
Wondering if I really ought
Not to be afraid.
Wondering if the blackened sea
Ever has a bend,
Wondering if the Milky Way
Ever has an end,
Wondering why the Southern Cross
Has an arm askew,
Wondering lots o’ funny things,
(I wonder, wouldn’t you?)
Wondering where He’s watching from—
Wondering if He’d see
Anything so very small
Just as you or me?
Wondering and wondering—
But still the echoes fail—
And so I’m left awondering
Over the silent rail.
LINES TO AN ELDERLY FRIEND
Written in a presentation copy of “My Bunkie and Other Ballads” given to A. Van Vleck, Esq., of New York City.
Where the sails hang limp and lifeless
In the doldrums’ deadly pause,
Where the lights above the Polar capes
Spread out in a golden gauze:
Where lilac tints are listing
O’er purple tropic seas—
Where the Arctic winds are whistling
And the north-flung rivers freeze—
We’ve met the men the Maker made
To dwell ’neath fir and palm—
And, we salute thee, friend and man—
M’sieur—le gentilhomme.