Hamlin Garland (Гэмлин Гарленд)
The Herald Crane
Oh! say you so, bold sailor In the sun-lit deeps of sky! Dost thou so soon the seed-time tell In thy imperial cry, As circling in yon shoreless sea Thine unseen form goes drifting by? I cannot trace in the noon-day glare Thy regal flight, O crane! From the leaping might of the fiery light Mine eyes recoil in pain, But on mine ear, thine echoing cry Falls like a bugle strain. The mellow soil glows beneath my feet, Where lies the buried grain; The warm light floods the length and breadth Of the vast, dim, shimmering plain, Throbbing with heat and the nameless thrill Of the birth-time's restless pain. On weary wing, plebeian geese Push on their arrowy line Straight into the north, or snowy brant In dazzling sunshine, gloom and shine; But thou, O crane, save for thy sovereign cry, At thy majestic height On proud, extended wings sweep'st on In lonely, easeful flight. Then cry, thou martial-throated herald! Cry to the sun, and sweep And swing along thy mateless, tireless course Above the clouds that sleep Afloat on lazy air - cry on! Send down Thy trumpet note - it seems The voice of hope and dauntless will, And breaks the spell of dreams.
Hamlin Garland’s other poems:
