A Water Color
There's a picture in my room Lightens many an hour of gloom,— Cheers me under fortune's frown And the drudgery of town. Many and many a winter day When my soul sees all things gray, Here is veritable June, Heart's content and spirit's boon. It is scarce a hand-breadth wide, Not a span from side to side, Yet it is an open door Looking back to joy once more, Where the level marshes lie, A quiet journey of the eye, And the unsubstantial blue Makes the fine illusion true. So I forth and travel there In the blessed light and air, Miles of green tranquillity Down the river to the sea. Here the sea-birds roam at will, And the sea-wind on the hill Brings the hollow pebbly roar From the dim and rosy shore, With the very scent and draft Of the old sea's mighty craft. I am standing on the dunes, By some charm that must be June's, When the magic of her hand Lays a sea-spell on the land. And the old enchantment falls On the blue-gray orchard walls And the purple high-top boles, While the orange orioles Flame and whistle through the green Of that paradisal scene. Strolling idly for an hour Where the elder is in flower, I can hear the bob-white call Down beyond the pasture wall. Musing in the scented heat, Where the bayberry is sweet, I can see the shadows run Up the cliff-side in the sun. Or I cross the bridge and reach The mossers' houses on the beach, Where the bathers on the sand Lie sea-freshened and sun-tanned. Thus I pass the gates of time And the boundaries of clime, Change the ugly man-made street For God's country green and sweet. Fag of body, irk of mind, In a moment left behind, Once more I possess my soul With the poise and self-control Beauty gives the free of heart Through the sorcery of art.
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