Here I find in a gentled spot The frost of the wild forget-me-not, And -- I cannot forget.

Heart once light as the floating feather Borne aloft in the sunny weather, Spring and winter have come together -- Shall you and she meet yet?

On the rocks and beaches of Carmel the surf is mighty to-day.

Breaker and lifting billow call To the high, blue Silence over all With the word no heart can say.

Time-to-be, shall I hear it ever?

Time-that-is, with the hands that sever, Cry all words but the dreadful "Never"!

And name of her far away.

Music I heard. [Conrad Aiken]

Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was more than bread; Now that I am without you, all is desolate; All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver, And I have seen your fingers hold this gla.s.s.

These things do not remember you, beloved, -- And yet your touch upon them will not pa.s.s.

For it was in my heart you moved among them, And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes; And in my heart they will remember always, -- They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

Dusk at Sea. [Thomas S. Jones, Jr.]

To-night eternity alone is near: The sea, the sunset, and the darkening blue; Within their shelter is no s.p.a.ce for fear, Only the wonder that such things are true.

The thought of you is like the dusk at sea -- s.p.a.ce and wide freedom and old sh.o.r.es left far, The shelter of a lone immensity Sealed by the sunset and the evening star.

Old Ships. [David Morton]

There is a memory stays upon old ships, A weightless cargo in the musty hold, -- Of bright lagoons and prow-caressing lips, Of stormy midnights, -- and a tale untold.

They have remembered islands in the dawn, And windy capes that tried their slender spars, And tortuous channels where their keels have gone, And calm blue nights of stillness and the stars.

Ah, never think that ships forget a sh.o.r.e, Or bitter seas, or winds that made them wise; There is a dream upon them, evermore; -- And there be some who say that sunk ships rise To seek familiar harbors in the night, Blowing in mists, their spectral sails like light.

The Wanderer. [Zoe Akins]

The ships are lying in the bay, The gulls are swinging round their spars; My soul as eagerly as they Desires the margin of the stars.

So much do I love wandering, So much I love the sea and sky, That it will be a piteous thing In one small grave to lie.

Harbury. [Louise Driscoll]

All the men of Harbury go down to the sea in ships, The wind upon their faces, the salt upon their lips.

The little boys of Harbury when they are laid to sleep, Dream of masts and cabins and the wonders of the deep.

The women-folk of Harbury have eyes like the sea, Wide with watching wonder, deep with mystery.

I met a woman: "Beyond the bar," she said, "Beyond the shallow water where the green lines spread,

"Out beyond the sand-bar and the white spray, My three sons wait for the Judgment Day."

I saw an old man who goes to sea no more, Watch from morn till evening down on the sh.o.r.e.

"The sea's a hard mistress," the old man said; "The sea is always hungry and never full fed.

"The sea had my father and took my son from me -- Sometimes I think I see them, walking on the sea!

"I'd like to be in Harbury on the Judgment Day, When the word is spoken and the sea is wiped away,

"And all the drowned fisher boys, with sea-weed in their hair, Rise and walk to Harbury to greet the women there.

"I'd like to be in Harbury to see the souls arise, Son and mother hand in hand, lovers with glad eyes.

"I think there would be many who would turn and look with me, Hoping for another glimpse of the cruel sea!

"They tell me that in Paradise the fields are green and still, With pleasant flowers everywhere that all may take who will,

"And four great rivers flowing from out the Throne of G.o.d That no one ever drowns in and souls may cross dry-shod.

"I think among those wonders there will be men like me, Who miss the old salt danger of the singing sea.

"For in my heart, like some old sh.e.l.l, inland, safe and dry, Any one who harks will still hear the sea cry."

A Lynmouth Widow. [Amelia Josephine Burr]