Look how the grace of the sea doth go

About and about through the intricate channels that flow

Here and there,

Everywhere,

Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lying lanes,

And the marsh is meshed with a million veins,
That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow
In the rose-and-silver evening glow.

Farewell, my lord Sun!

The creeks overflow: thousand rivulets run 'Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh

grass stir;

Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr; Passeth, and all is still; and the currents cease to run; And the sea and the marsh are one.

How still the plains of the waters be!

The tide is in his ecstasy;

The tide is at his highest height;

And it is night.

And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters of

sleep

Roll in on the souls of men,

But who will reveal to our waking ken

The forms that swim and the shapes that creep

Under the waters of sleep?

And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in

On the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn.

A CALIFORNIA VIGNETTE

(From Tamar)

BY ROBINSON JEFFERS

Old cypresses

The sailor wind works into deep-sea knots

A thousand years; age-reddened granite

That was the world's cradle and crumbles apieces Now that we're all grown up, breaks out at the roots;

And underneath it the old gray-granite strength

Is neither glad nor sorry to take the seas
Of all the storms forever and stand as firmly

As when the red hawk wings of the first dawn

Streamed up the sky over it: there is one more beauti

ful thing,

Water that owns the north and west and south

And is all colors and never is all quiet,

And the fogs are its breath and float along the branches

of the cypresses.

And I forgot the coals of ruby lichen

That glow in the fog on the old twigs.

IN THE WOOD

BY SARA TEasdale

I heard the waterfall rejoice,
Singing like a choir,

I saw the sun flash out of it
Azure and amber fire.

The earth was like an open flower
Enamelled and arrayed,

The path I took to find its heart
Fluttered with sun and shade.

And while earth lured me, gently, gently,
Happy and all alone,

Suddenly a heavy snake

Reared black upon a stone.

ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Two voices are there; one is of the Sea,
One of the Mountains; each a mighty voice:
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberty!
There came a tyrant, and with holy glee

Thou fought'st against him,-but hast vainly striven: Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.

-Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft;
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left-
For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be
That Mountain floods should thunder as before,
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee!

THE INVITATION

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Best and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.

The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born.

Bending from heaven, in azure mirth,
It kiss'd the forehead of the Earth;
And smiled upon the silent sea;
And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all their fountains;
And breathed upon the frozen mountains;
And like a prophetess of May

Strew'd flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear

Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs-
To the silent wilderness

Where the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
I leave this notice on my door
For each accustom'd visitor:-
"I am gone into the fields

To take what this sweet hour yields.
Reflections, you may come to-morrow;
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,-
You tiresome verse-reciter, Care,-
I will pay you in the grave,-
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!

To-day is for itself enough.

Hope, in pity, mock not Woe

With smiles, nor follow where I go;
Long having lived on your sweet food,
At length I find one moment's good
After long pain: with all your love,
This you never told me of."

Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!

To the wild woods and the plains;