THE air is cool; a mist hangs low
Above the wild waves' gleaming flow,
An earth-born cloud, a prisoner fair
Held captive from the upper air.
Its life is brief; 't is gone, unseen
As souls set free. The blue serene
Shall claim it, as, of heaven's race,
It speeds a viewless way through space.
As souls set free! Oh, memories fair
That substance of my boyhood were;
What subtle process of the brain
Called that dear company again:
Those honest eyes of tranquil gray,
That heart which knew but honor's way,
And one, the strong, the saint of pain,—
That visage smiles for me again,
Laughs as it laughed when life was here,
Smiles as it smiled when death was near.
What thought-linked sweetness of the hour
Bade memory's folded buds to flower?
The dim horizons of the mind
In vain I search, nor answer find.
The sombre woods make no reply;
The busy river, rambling by,
Is silent; silent is the sky.
And yet to-day this nature dear
Than human help seems far more near;
And closer to my listening soul
The rhythms of the rapid roll
Than any words of human tongue,
Than any song of poet sung.
Alas, the bounding walls of time
Still hem us in; the poet's rhyme,
The brain, the air, the river's flow,
The frank blue sky, the waves below,
Refuse to tell us half they know.
In vain our search, in vain our cries,
Our dearest loves lack some replies;
And thought as infinite as space!
May never tell us face to face,
Though sought beneath death's awful shroud,
The secrets of one flitting cloud,
The history of a single leaf.
Ah, mystery of mysteries,
To know if under other skies
Shall Nature wait with open hand,
To hold her secrets at command.

O'er other hills and far away
The red scourge of the lightning flies;
The thunder roar of smitten clouds
Reverberant in distance dies;
The western sky, an arch of green,
Fades o'er me, and my still canoe
Floats on a mystic sea of gold
Flecked thick with waves of sapphire blue;
The silent counsels of the night
Float downward with the failing light;
Strange whispers from the darkened stream
Rise like the voices of a dream;
The joy of mystery gathers near,
The joy that is almost a fear.
Speechless the infinite of space,
Star-peopled, looks upon my face,
The patience of heaven's planet gaze,
That bids me wait for death's amaze,
Or for the death of deaths to tell
The secrets Nature guards so well.
Lo, darkness that is substance falls
Between the mountain's nearing walls,
The sky drops down, and to my eye
The watery levels closer lie,
Till wood and wave and mountain fade
'Neath the dear mother's cloak of shade.
She brings for me the scented balm
Her spruce-trees yield; a sacred calm
Falls softly on my kneeling heart.
'Peace, child,' she whispers, 'mine thou art.
Lo, in my darkness thou hast found
Content my daylight does not bound;
My silence to thy soul doth preach;
Night unto night still uttereth speech,
And the black night of death shall be
As eloquent of truth to thee.'