Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ADVENTURE, by EDWARD BLISS REED


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ADVENTURE, by                    
First Line: I loved my garden; in its cloistered plot
Last Line: Nor turn dismayed from unknown fate.
Subject(s): Fate; Flowers; Hearts; Love; Romance; Roses; Sea Voyages; Destiny


I

I loved my garden; in its cloistered plot
Blossomed the earliest daffodils of Spring.
Hiding gray walls the roses climbed; each spot
Breathed blessing; tender violets languishing
Scattered faint incense. Honeysuckle sweet
And fragrant grass—soft rest for tired feet—
Enticed the care-worn soul. All that birds sing
I knew, and with each note my heart would reach
A tranquil joy beyond our mortal speech.

One morn, across the distant, sheltering hill,
Swift from the sea the eastern wind ble strong.
The blackbird's note was hushed; as all grew still
I heard far off that ancient, charmèd song—
The ocean's call. The flowers I loved so well
Trembled and died. Half freed from drowsy spell
Of garden glamourie, I lingered long,
Then opened wide the gate and out did pass—
The red rose strewed its petals down the grass.

Through the rich meadows, past the moors I went.
(The song of birds came faintly down the hill)
Sweeter than roses was the waves' keen scent,
I heard the wheeling sea gulls calling shrill.
With bruised hands I clambered down a ledge
And reached—no resting place—the ocean's edge.
Dim dreams came to my heart, brave thoughts that thrill.
There lay a boat, for this day was I made,
Push out! and o'er the hill the roses fade.

II

I cannot tell where lies my land,
I have no guiding star, no chart;
Clutching the tiller, firm I stand
And fight the waves with unmoved heart.

Tossed by the stealthy waves, alone
On trackless tides where strange stars shine,
I seek far regions, vast, unknown,
(Hark! how the gale sweeps o'er the brine!)

Rest—'twas the empty gift of Death.
The Gods themselves that man deride
Who waits their word with trembling breath,
His path untrod and life untried.

'Tis cold. Far off in cloistered plot
The roses bloom, the violets wait.
Breakers!—I would not change my lot,
Nor turn dismayed from unknown Fate.





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