Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

THE FIR WOODS


 

THE wash of endless waves is in their tops,
     Endlessly swaying, and the long winds stream
     Athwart them from the far-off shores of dream.
Through the stirred branches filtering, faintly drops
Mystic dream-dust of isle, and palm, and cave,
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     Coral and sapphire, realms of rose, that seem
     More radiant than ever earthly gleam
Revealed of fairy mead or haunted wave.
A cloud of gold, a cleft of blue profound,—
     These are my gates of wonder, surged about
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     By tumult of tossed bough and rocking crest:
The vision lures. The spirit spurns her bound,
     Spreads her unprisoned wing, and drifts from out
     This green and humming gloom that wraps my rest.