I heard the crash of structures that were fair; The bridges of fond hopes were swept away By great salt waves of sorrow. In dismay I saw by the red lightning"s lurid glare That on the rock-bound island of despair I had been cast. Till the dim dawn of day I heard my castles falling, and the roll Of angry billows bearing to the sea The broken timbers of my very soul.
Were all the pent-up waters from the whole Stupendous solar system to break free, There are no floods that now can frighten me.
A FABLE.
Some cawing Crows, a hooting Owl, A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh-Fowl, One day all meet together To hold a caucus and settle the fate Of a certain bird (without a mate), A bird of another feather.
"My friends," said the Owl, with a look most wise, "The Eagle is soaring too near the skies, In a way that is quite improper; Yet the world is praising her, so I"m told, And I think her actions have grown so bold That some of us ought to stop her."
"I have heard it said," quoth Hawk, with a sigh, "That young lambs died at the glance of her eye, And I wholly scorn and despise her.
This, and more, I am told they say, And I think that the only proper way Is never to recognize her."
"I am quite convinced," said Crow, with a caw, "That the Eagle minds no moral law, She"s a most unruly creature."
"She"s an ugly thing," piped Canary Bird; "Some call her handsome--it"s so absurd-- She hasn"t a decent feature."
Then the old Marsh-Hen went hopping about, She said she was sure--_she_ hadn"t a doubt-- Of the truth of each bird"s story: And she thought it a duty to stop her flight, To pull her down from her lofty height, And take the gilt from her glory.
But, lo! from a peak on the mountain grand That looks out over the smiling land And over the mighty ocean, The Eagle is spreading her splendid wings-- She rises, rises, and upward swings, With a slow, majestic motion.
Up in the blue of G.o.d"s own skies, With a cry of rapture, away she flies, Close to the Great Eternal: She sweeps the world with her piercing sight; Her soul is filled with the infinite And the joy of things supernal.
Thus rise forever the chosen of G.o.d, The genius-crowned or the power-shod, Over the dust-world sailing; And back, like splinters blown by the winds, Must fall the missiles of silly minds, Useless and unavailing.
OTHER BOOKS by Ella Wheeler Wilc.o.x
THREE WOMEN
POEMS OF POWER
MAURINE
POEMS OF Pa.s.sION
POEMS OF PLEASURE
KINGDOM OF LOVE AND OTHER POEMS
AN ERRING WOMAN"S LOVE
EVERY-DAY THOUGHTS
MEN WOMEN AND EMOTIONS
AN AMBITIOUS MAN
THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD
AROUND THE YEAR WITH ELLA
WHEELER WILc.o.x A Birthday Book