On the Beach in November
My heart's Ideal, that somewhere out of sight
Art beautiful and gracious and alone,--
Haply, where blue Saronic waves are blown
On shores that keep some touch of old delight,--
How welcome thy memory, and how bright,
To one who watches over leagues of stone
These chilly northern waters creep and moan
From weary morning unto weary night.
O Shade-form, lovelier than the living crowd,
So kind to votaries, yet thyself unvowed,
So free to human fancies, fancy-free,
My vagrant thought goes out to thee, to thee,
As wandering lonelier than the Poet's cloud,
I listen to the wash of this dull sea.
My heart's Ideal, that somewhere out of sight
Art beautiful and gracious and alone,--
Haply, where blue Saronic waves are blown
On shores that keep some touch of old delight,--
How welcome thy memory, and how bright,
To one who watches over leagues of stone
These chilly northern waters creep and moan
From weary morning unto weary night.
O Shade-form, lovelier than the living crowd,
So kind to votaries, yet thyself unvowed,
So free to human fancies, fancy-free,
My vagrant thought goes out to thee, to thee,
As wandering lonelier than the Poet's cloud,
I listen to the wash of this dull sea.