MIST AT SEA


The sea was mist-enwreathed at morn,
A void unspeakably forlorn;
Yet from the seeming barren gloom
Beauty, the dream of the world, was born.

A sudden wafture of wind breath,
And lo, sun glories none gainsaith!
Thus shall the wings of the soul emerge
White from the chrysalis of death.




A SEA SCENE


From rim to shimmering rim the sea
Is burnished like chalcedony.

The waves that set their lips to land
Scarce make a murmur on the sand.

The ships appear to poise between
Two voids of opalescent sheen.

Aye, here eternal calm seems set
In bland beatitude, and yet