Part 5
God, when you patterned a bird’s song, Flung on a silver string, How did you know the ecstasy That crystal call would bring? How did you think of a bubbling throat And a darling speckled wing?
God, when you chiseled a raindrop, How did you think of a stem, Bearing a lovely satin leaf To hold the tiny gem? How did you know a million drops Would deck the morning’s hem?
Why did you mate the moonlit night With honeysuckle vines? How did you know madeira bloom Distilled ecstatic wines? How did you weave the velvet dusk Where tangled perfumes are? God, when you thought of a pine tree, How did you think of a star?
_Unknown_
_The House of the Trees_
Ope your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood, Wash me clean of dust and din, Clothe me in your mood.
Take me from the noisy light To the sunless peace, Where at mid-day standeth Night Signing Toil’s release.
All your dusky twilight stores To my senses give; Take me in and lock the doors, Show me how to live.
Lift your leafy roof for me, Part your yielding walls: Let me wander lingeringly Through your scented halls.
Ope your doors and take me in, Spirit of the wood; Take me--make me next of kin To your leafy brood.
_Ethelwyn Wetherald_
_Trees_
In the Garden of Eden, planted by God, There were goodly trees in the springing sod,--
Trees of beauty and height and grace, To stand in splendor before His face.
Apple and hickory, ash and pear, Oak and beech and the tulip rare,
The trembling aspen, the noble pine, The sweeping elm by the river line;
Trees for the birds to build and sing, And the lilac tree for a joy in spring;
Trees to turn at the frosty call And carpet the ground for their Lord’s footfall;
Trees for fruitage and fire and shade, Trees for the cunning builder’s trade;
Wood for the bow, the spear, and the flail, The keel and the mast of the daring sail;
He made them of every grain and girth, For the use of man in the Garden of Earth.
Then lest the soul should not lift her eyes From the gift to the Giver of Paradise,
On the crown of a hill, for all to see, God planted a scarlet maple tree.
_Bliss Carman_
_The Trees and the Master_
Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives, they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him, The thorn tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came.
Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content. Out of the woods my Master came, Content with death and shame. When death and shame would woo Him last, From under the trees they drew Him last, ’Twas on a tree they slew Him--last When out of the woods He came.
_Sidney Lanier_
_The Trees_
There’s something in a noble tree-- What shall I say? a soul? For ’tis not form, or aught we see In leaf or branch or bole. Some presence, though not understood, Dwells there alway, and seems To be acquainted with our mood, And mingles in our dreams.
I would not say that trees at all Were of our blood and race, Yet, lingering where their shadows fall, I sometimes think I trace A kinship, whose far-reaching root Grew when the world began, And made them best of all things mute To be the friends of man.
Held down by whatsoever might Unto an earthly sod, They stretch forth arms for air and light, As we do after God; And when in all their boughs the breeze Moans loud, or softly sings, As our own hearts in us, the trees Are almost human things.
What wonder in the days that burned With old poetic dream, Dead Phaëthon’s fair sisters turned To poplars by the stream! In many a light cotillion stept The trees when fluters blew; And many a tear, ’tis said, they wept For human sorrow too.
Mute, said I? They are seldom thus; They whisper each to each, And each and all of them to us, In varied forms of speech. “Be serious,” the solemn pine Is saying overhead; “Be beautiful,” the elm-tree fine Has always finely said;
“Be quick to feel,” the aspen still Repeats the whole day long; While, from the green slope of the hill, The oak-tree adds, “Be strong.” When with my burden, as I hear Their distant voices call, I rise, and listen, and draw near, “Be patient,” say they all.
_Samuel Valentine Cole_
_Three Trees_
The poplar is a French tree, A tall and laughing wench tree, A slender tree, a tender tree, That whispers to the rain-- An easy, breezy flapper tree, A lithe and blithe and dapper tree, A girl of trees, a pearl of trees, Beside the shallow Aisne.
The oak is a British tree, And not at all a skittish tree; A rough tree, a tough tree, A knotty tree to bruise; A drives-his-roots-in-deep tree, A mighty tree, a blighty tree, A tree of stubborn thews.
The pine tree is our own tree, A grown tree, a cone tree, The tree to face a bitter wind, The tree for mast and spar-- A mounting tree, a fine tree, A fragrant turpentine tree, A limber tree, a timber tree, And resinous with tar!
_Christopher Morley_
_What Do We Plant?_
What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the ship which will cross the sea. We plant the mast to carry the sails; We plant the planks to withstand the gales-- The keel, the keelson, and beam and knee; We plant the ship when we plant the tree.
What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the houses for you and me. We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors, We plant the studding, the lath, the doors, The beams and siding, all parts that be; We plant the house when we plant the tree.
What do we plant when we plant the tree? A thousand things that we daily see; We plant the spire that out-towers the crag, We plant the staff for our country’s flag, We plant the shade, from the hot sun free; We plant all these when we plant the tree!
_Henry Abbey_
_Trees_
Many a tree is found in the wood, And every tree for its use is good. Some for the strength of the gnarled root, Some for the sweetness of flower or fruit, Some for shelter against the storm, And some to keep the hearthstone warm, Some for the roof and some for the beam, And some for a boat to breast the storm. In the wealth of the wood since the world began, The trees have offered their gifts to man.
But the glory of trees is more than their gifts: ’Tis a beautiful wonder of life that lifts From a wrinkled seed in an earth-bound clod A column, an arch in the temple of God, A pillar of power, a dome of delight, A shrine of song and a joy of sight! Their roots are the nurses of rivers in birth, Their leaves are alive with the breath of the earth; They shelter the dwellings of man, and they bend O’er his grave with the look of a loving friend.
I have camped in the whispering forest of pines I have slept in the shadow of olives and vines; In the knees of an oak, at the foot of a palm, I have found good rest and slumber’s balm. And now, when the morning gilds the boughs Of the vaulted elm at the door of my house, I open the window and make a salute: “God bless thy branches and feed thy root! Thou hast lived before, live after me, Thou ancient, friendly, faithful tree!”
_Henry van Dyke_
_The Trees_
Time is never wasted listening to the trees; If to heaven so grandly we arose as these, Holding toward each other half their kindly grace, Haply we were worthier of our human place.
Bending down to meet you on the hillside path, Birch and oak and maple each his welcome hath; Each his own fine cadence, his familiar word, By the ear accustomed, always plainly heard.
Every tree gives answer to some different mood, This one helps you climbing; that for rest is good; Beckoning friends, companions, sentinels they are; Good to live and die with, good to greet afar.
_Lucy Larcom_
_Good Company_
To-day I have grown taller from walking with the trees, The seven sister-poplars who go softly in a line; And I think my heart is whiter for its parley with a star That trembled out at nightfall and hung above the pine.
The call-note of a redbird from the cedars in the dusk Woke his happy mate within me to an answer free and fine; And a sudden angel beckoned from a column of blue smoke-- _Lord, who am I that they should stoop--these holy folk of thine?_
_Karle Wilson Baker_
_The Green Tree In The Fall_
Did you forget to bud in Spring, O Green Tree in the Fall, That now you wear these fresh young leaves As for a coronal?
All of your mates within the wood Are in the crimson leaf, They had their swift, enamored spring, Their summertime too brief.
But you--what chance befell that you Were cheated of the Spring, That now you cling so fast to leaves Wherein no bird will sing?
My heart is with you, little tree, For I was cheated too, And now I grasp at what I missed And cling as fast as you.
_Jessie B. Rittenhouse_
_The Call of the Sea_
_There’s the bird’s song and the wind’s song, and the song of the leafless tree, But, oh, the call of the sea’s song, the imperious song of the sea._
_There’s the song of running water, and the song of singing rain; But, oh, the song of the masterful sea, that calls down the coast of Maine._
E. O. G.
_Sea-Fever_
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a gray mist on the sea’s face and a gray dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
_John Masefield_
_A Son of the Sea_
I was born for deep-sea faring; I was bred to put to sea; Stories of my father’s daring Filled me at my mother’s knee.
I was sired among the surges; I was cubbed beside the foam; All my heart is in its verges, And the sea wind is my home.
All my boyhood, from far vernal Bournes of being, came to me Dream-like, plangent, and eternal Memories of the plunging sea.
_Bliss Carman_
_Dreams of the Sea_
I know not why I yearn for thee again, To sail once more upon thy fickle flood; I’ll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed, Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood.
Yet I have seen thee lash the vessel’s sides In fury, with thy many tailèd whip; And I have seen thee, too, like Galilee, When Jesus walked in peace to Simon’s ship.
And I have seen thy gentle breeze as soft As summer’s, when it makes the cornfields run; And I have seen thy rude and lusty gale Make ships show half their bellies to the sun.
Thou knowest the way to tame the wildest life, Thou knowest the way to bend the great and proud: I think of that Armada whose puffed sails, Greedy and large, came swallowing every cloud.
But I have seen the sea-boy, young and drowned Lying on shore and, by thy cruel hand, A seaweed beard was on his tender chin, His heaven-blue eyes were filled with common sand.
And yet, for all, I yearn for thee again, To sail once more upon thy fickle flood: I’ll hear thy waves wash under my death-bed, Thy salt is lodged forever in my blood.
_William H. Davies_
_Going Down in Ships_
Going down to sea in ships Is a glorious thing, Where up and over the rolling waves The sea-birds wing;
Oh, there’s nothing more to my heart’s desire Than a ship that plows Head-on down through marching seas, With streaming bows:
Would you hear the song of the viewless winds As they walk the sky? Come down to sea when the storm is on And the men stand by.
Would you see the sun as it walked abroad On God’s First Day? Then come where dawn makes sea and sky A gold causeway.
Oh, it’s bend the sails on the criss-cross yards, For the day dies far, And up a windless space of dusk Climbs the evening star....
Now there’s gulf on foaming gulf of stars That lean so clear That it seems the bastions of heaven Are bright and near,
And that, any moment, the topmost sky May froth and swim With an incredible bivouac Of seraphim....
O wide-flung dawn, O mighty day And set of sun! O all you climbing stars of God, Oh, lead me on!...
_Harry Kemp_
_The Waves of Breffny_
The grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea, And there is traffic in it and many a horse and cart, But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me, And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart.
A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o’er the hill, And there is glory in it; and terror on the wind: But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and still, And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my mind.
The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storming on their way, Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal; But the little waves of Breffny have drenched my heart in spray, And the little waves of Breffny go stumbling through my soul.
_Eva Gore-Booth_
_Short Beach_
Oh, the salt wind in my nostrils! And the white sail in the creek! And the blue beyond the marshes! And the flag at the peak!
My soul lifts to the bugles Of a far cry on the breeze-- The cry of my storm-kin calling Overseas, overseas!
Blow, horns of the old sea-rapture! When your call comes from afar, I would rise from the grave to reach you Where the sea-dooms are.
_Richard Hovey_
_Sea Call_
My old love for the water has come back again-- I had forgotten its surging, so long, so long away; Sapphire-blue in the sunlight and green-gray in the rain, And the same waves cresting, and the same sharp spray, There was left a wave in my heart when I went to the inland towns, Something that moved and murmured in the days when I forgot; Vivid flowers of the gardens or thick long grass of the downs-- What were the sweets of the summer days, where the calling waves were not?
My old love for the water has come back once more; The wave of the deep draws full, and the wave in my heart lifts high; This is my own old country and my own old shore ... And I cannot leave the water till the day I die.
_Margaret Widdemer_
_Ship-Love_
When God gave to all men All the earth to love He gave them the waters under the sea, He gave them the sky above; And some love the waters, And some love the sky; But I love the tall ships That go sailing by.
For when God gave to my heart The warm living blood He gave me, too, the passion For ebb-tide and flood; And my love is ship-love, For tall ships and strange, For steam-ships and sailing ships The whole wide range.
And when God calls my spirit And claims the soul of me He’ll find it a-wandering With ships on the sea; He’ll find it on a warm deck Dreaming in the sun, Long after I am perished And my earth-life done.
_Ethel E. Mannin_
_The Sea_
I call thee from the changing land To the unchanging sea; I bring a bride-gift in my hand Of immortality. The land is fair, but fairer far The pastures of the sea. Canst thou reach down the lowest star? My sea-fires gleam for thee. All rivers run unto one end And perish in the sea; Turn thou from lover and from friend, And give thy heart to me. Thy love shall suffer change and dearth, Thy friend the years estrange; There is no faithfulness on earth-- The sea will never change.
_Nora Hopper_
_Coquette_
I am wearied with insatiable longing For that laughing, blue-eyed wanton called the sea. Though she’s but a faithless rover And the wide world’s willing lover I’d be content if she would share an hour with me.
If she would toss me on her restless, throbbing bosom, Caress a moment--and then flout me in my pain, I would barter all the treasures Of the rich man’s million pleasures To be rocked within her siren arms again.
Her honey voice is luring, mocking, calling! Her sapphire scalloped skirts are piped with foam: And her light feet shoreward dancing, Pearly-sandalled and entrancing, Entice the steps of men from love and home.
False and cruel is her glittering lure; Her gifts are death and woe’s delirium-- Yet heaven holds no blisses Like the sharp tang of her kisses-- Ah! Coquette! if you should slay me, I must come!
_Keith Stuart_
_The Deep-Water Man_
O give me the Pole Star overhead, A slithering deck to my feet, A forward bunk for my downy bed, And the sea for my village street, The galley’s glow for my warm hearthstone, And my mates for my kin and friends-- Then earth’s long leagues are my very own To the place where the round world ends.
There’s never a richer man than I, Nor a poorer under the sun; For all of my boundless riches lie In the things I have seen and done-- The songs I’ve sung and the laughs I’ve laughed-- Oh, that’s wealth as it ought to be, For when the Skipper shall call me aft I can take it along with me.
A-roaring down the Atlantic lanes, Or cruising a tropical sea, The balmy Trades, or the wind-whipped rains, Are a bit of the same to me. I’m home wherever the anchors fall And take my idolatrous ease-- I’ve got a girl in each port of call To be found on the seven seas.
Oh, loves I’ve known that were deep and strong, Of some ports I am more than fond, But woman nor town can hold me long From the call of the ones beyond. So, ever and always outward bound (Well, I guess it’s the fate of some) Till the day their keels go hard aground In the Port of the Kingdom Come.
_James Stuart Montgomery_
_Sea Longing_
You who are inland born know not the pain Of one who longs for gray dunes and the seas And sound of ebbing tide and windy rain And sea-mews crying down immensities. You who are inland born, know not the urge Of rapt tides beating passionate and wild; Nor have you thrilled with wonder at the surge Of drifting water, wayward as a child. Impetuous I seek the eager sea, Imperious for joy and wind-blown spray; You, who are city-beaten every day, What do you know of mirth and ecstasy? No thirsty wind has journeyed from the South-- And laid a cool, wet finger on your mouth!
_Harold Vinal_
_Had I the Choice_
Had I the choice to tally greatest bards, To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will, Homer with all his wars and warriors--Hector, Achilles, Ajax, Or Shakspere’s woe-entangled Hamlet, Lear, Othello--Tennyson’s fair ladies, Metre or wit the best, or choice conceit to wield in perfect rhyme, delight of singers; These, these, O sea, all these I’d gladly barter, Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me transfer, Or breathe one breath of yours upon my verse, And leave its odor there.
_Walt Whitman_
_Gray_
A bleak wind is riding on the waves, And the shadowy foam is hurled; And the gray rains are on the hills And a gray dusk is over the world.
And bleak moods and shadowy moods Move like the moods of the sea, And mist, like a gray unspoken thought, Is looking strangely at me.
And I am lost in grayness, My dreams are still and furled, For the gray rains are on the hills And a gray dusk is over the world.
_Oscar Williams_
_A Pagan Hymn_
I have drunk the Sea’s good wine, And to-day Care has bowed his head and gone away. I have drunk the Sea’s good wine, Was ever step so light as mine, Was ever heart so gay? Old voices intermingle in my brain, Voices that a little boy might hear, And dreams like fiery sunsets come again, Informulate and vain, But great with glories of the buccaneer. Oh, thanks to thee, great Mother, thanks to thee, For this old joy renewed, For tightened sinew and clear blood imbued With sunlight and with sea. Behold, I sing a pagan song of old, And out of my full heart, Hold forth my hands that so I would enfold The Infinite thou art. What matter all the creeds that come and go, The many gods of men? My blood outcasts them from its joyous flow, And it is now as then-- The Pearl of Morning, and the Sapphire Sea, The Diamond of Noon, The Ruby of the Sunset--these shall be My creed, my Deity; And I will take some old forgotten tune, And rhythm frolic-free, And sing in little words thy wondrous boon, O Sunlight and O Sea!
_John Runcie_
_As the Tide Comes In_
The long-winged terns dart wild and dire, As the tide comes tumbling in. The calm rock-pools grow all alive, With the tide tumbling in, The crab that under the brown weed creeps, And the snail who lies in his house and sleeps, Awake and stir, as the plunging sweep Of the tide comes tumbling in.
The driftwood swishes along the sand, As the tide comes tumbling in. With wreck and wrack from many a land, On the tide, tumbling in. About my feet are a broken spar, A pale anemone’s torn sea-star And scattered scum of the waves’ old war, As the tide comes tumbling in.
And, oh, there is a stir at the heart of me, As the tide comes tumbling in. All life once more is a part of me, As the tide tumbles in. New hopes awaken beneath despair And thoughts slip free of the sloth of care, While beauty and love are everywhere-- As the tide comes tumbling in.
_Cale Young Rice_
_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea_
A wet sheet and a flowing sea,-- A wind that follows fast, That fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast,-- And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.
Oh, for a soft and gentle wind! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high,--And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free; The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.
There’s tempest in yon hornèd moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners! The wind is piping loud,-- The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing free; While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.
_Allan Cunningham_
_The Undersong_
I hear the sea-song of the blood in my heart, I hear the sea-song of the blood in my ears: And I am far apart, And lost in the years.