On the Beach

WE stroll as children, thou and I,Upon the sandy beach,With younger children playing nigh;The surf-boats dance, the ships go by,Beyond the cape's vague reach.

It is a comfort once to beLike those young hearts again;To feel, O friend beloved, with thee,The broad refreshment of the sea,In weary soul and brain.

The white feet pattering on the sand,The wings that dip and rise,The mower's whistle from the land,And girlhood's laugh, and murmuring strand,All blend and harmonize.

And glimmering beach, and plover's flight,And that long surge that rollsThrough bands of green and purple light,Are fairer to our human sight,Because of human souls.

Seest thou yon fleet of anchored islesUpon the sea-line gray?My thoughts o'erfloat these murmurous miles,To land where bygone summer smilesOn gorge and sheltering bay.

I wander with a spirit there,Along the enchanted shore:We breathe the soft, sea-scented air,And think no isle is half so fairAs rocky Appledore.

She turns to me her large, dark eyes:—Were ever eyes so true?—The twilight flushes, fades, and dies;The beacon flames; the white stars riseAcross pale gulfs of blue.

Those eyes on earth no longer shine;And yet it seems to meI see their light, O friend, in thine;They add a tenderness divineUnto this tremulous sea.

Seen and unseen are interblent;The waves that hither rollIn whiter curves of foam are spent,And deeper seems the green contentOf shore, for her sweet soul.

Can love be hid in funeral urn,Or shut within the grave?Life passes, only to return,In tints that glow, and stars that burnUpon the refluent wave.

The land is dearer for the sea,The ocean for the shore:These sands of time too drear would be,If heaven's unguessed eternityRolled not our feet before.