ON THE SHORE by MARY CROSS

A GLOW of crimson glory floods the west,
And clouds assume the purple robe of kings;
I hear above me, rushing to the nest,
The sweep of "sunset wings;"
Hear, too, the rhythmic chiming of the waves
Scattering a shower of light upon the sand;
As twilight with her train of misty haze
Walks slowly o'er the land.
From some far church the bell of vesper rings --
A voice to tell the hour of prayer and praise;
I deem it, as in solitude I stand
The requiem of days.

O thou to-morrow, as yet dimly seen!
O dawn of morn unknown, and yet to be!
What, as you glimmer o'er the changing scene,
What bear you unto me?
In vain I try to pierce the misty veil,
I vain I bend towards you a listening ear?
I neither mark a swift advancing sail,
Nor seas by winds swept clear;
No holy anthem echoes o'er the sea,
Your skies and clouds are tremulous and pale;
What passage in the chapter of the year,
Trace you in my Life's tale?

Monotony? The sleepy swell of waves
That neither rise to storm nor sink to rest;
Or -- sand and sea-weed rent from hidden graves?
I wonder which were best!
To dream at ease where winds are soft and low,
And sky and sea meet cloudless far away;
Or where the storm clouds hurry to and fro
O'er a wild world of spray.
Make answer, oh! thou soul within my breast,
To sleep, and dreams, and pleasure, answer No!
I turn from these to living, acting day,
Where deeds like stars may glow.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...