Far Horizons

by Bliss Carman




THIS is the sign of the moon
Worn by the tribes of the West,
The sacred symbol of Night
Guarding the love in the breast.

This is the mystical charm

Out of soft moon-metal wrought,
With all of its magic intact,
The Navajo silversmith caught,

When he beheld in the dusk
That marvellous sickle of light

Hang o’er the desert to guide
The footsteps of lovers aright.

Was not a sorcerer here
Casting a silvery spell,
Calling the Manitou down

In the wrought symbol to dwell?

Surely a poet was he,
Seeking a word of his own
For the enchantment of night
He too had seen and known!


Bidding the silver assume
The language of beauty, and be
Witness of love for the dumb
Yet impassioned—even as he.

He too a lover had been,

(Does not his handicraft say?)
Touched with the glamour of life,
And giving his heart away.

See where the hammer-marks prove
The faith of the artist sublime—

Love and its work must abide,
Outlasting the sand storms of time.

Yours be this talisman too,
Lovers of beauty and light,
Leaving your hearts to the care

Of the great spirit of night!