My love o’erflows with joy divine
The ocean-girdled hills,
And with my breath each blowing pine
And combing breaker fills;
The shadows of my spirit move
The far, blue coast along,
Where of wild beauty first I wove
The rainbow woof of song ;
On these great beaches of the North
My voices shoreward roll,
And when the blessèd stars come forth,
All heaven is made my scroll.
I take the wings of morn ; I soar
Above the ocean plain;
From fountains of the sun I pour
My passion’s golden rain ;
And when black tempest heaven shrouds,
On eastern thunders far
I show the rainbow in the clouds,
And give the West her star ;
Soft blow the winds o’er fallen showers,
And, cool with fragrance, sleep
Lies breathing through the chambered hours ;
I only wake and weep.
O mystic Love ! that so can take
The bright world in thy hands,
And its imprisoned spirits make
Murmur at thy commands;
As if, in truth, this orb of law
Were but thy reed-hung nest,
Woven by Time of sticks and straw
To house the summer guest;
And so to me the starry sphere
Is but love’s frail sea-shell;
Oh, might she press it to her ear,
What would its murmurs tell!
G. E. Woodberry.