MEDITATION
A spirit in soft slippers
Walked the Gulf Stream floor.
She opened many a cabin door
Of ships a long time underseas.
She read long-rest Egyptian books
And looked upon skull-faces,
And read their restless looks
Shining through the shadows
Of phosphorescent streaming waves,—
Impatient for the Judgment horn
To lift them from their purple graves.
THE TRAVELER
The Moon’s a devil-jester
Who makes himself too free.
The rascal is not always
Where he appears to be:—
Sometimes he is in my heart—
Sometimes in the sea.
Then tides are in my heart,
And tides are in the sea.
O traveler! abiding not
Where he pretends to be!
