Poems of Philip Henry Savage / Philip Henry Savage [electronic text]

II

WESTWARD I walked; the sun was low; the plain, Seeming to rise before me, with the earth Revolving, rolling backward to the east, Shut out the dropping sun. I hastened on, But still the day grew darker as the west Drew in its last, white, fading fan of light, And all the world was cold; and when the land Ceased to reflect the sky, and heavy lay, And dully, by itself, I came where spread A darkling mirror, whitened half, and blue, Still cherishing a faint thought of the sky. The hour was calm, forgetful of the day, Where toward the noon the pattering rain did beat The fragrant earth; a soft green mist arose And lay across the opening fields; and then, Sweeping the huddled air around the world The silver storm scowled black; o'er all the sky It tore itself in fury and ran low Across the shuddering earth; it seized the trees, It seized the mountains in its gloomy hands And shook them; while the terror stricken streams Leaped madly on to aid the warring sea. Then in the thronging blackness of the storm

I had rejoiced, as now I smiled to see The fair, white, gentle surface of the lake And feel the air fall softly; at my feet The waters rose like coming thoughts that fall Forgotten, and my mind rose till it ran As smoothly as the yet unbroken wave.