Imprisoned close in city marts,
O childhood, so divinely fair,
For thee, deep in my heart of hearts,
Sweet pity beats her wings all bare!
[BAY OF FUNDY.]
I.
Deep Bay, broad-breasted and brave!
Oft rocked in thy swaying arms
Beneath the hidden sun,
As foam-bell tost on thy wave
I drift again 'mid thy charms
To sphinx-like Blomidon.
Why are thy glories untold?
Thy cliffs of purple and red
And crystal-veinëd rocks,
Thy hasting waters deep-rolled
'Neath skies whose colors are spread
With art that all art mocks;
Thy faltering ranks of white mist
Flanking vast floods and vast ebbs—
A mimicry of war,—
Oriflammes of dew-sprent list,
Banners of gossamer webs,
Soft blown as lights of Thor!
II.
The smooth shining flats all bare
To the heavens' nakedest ken,
Mirror the hills, like lakes.
The drowsy lull of the air
Will stir anew to life when
The tidal note awakes.