Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Josephine PrestonPeabody1670 Isolation
O
Know ye, in all the worlds, a gladder thing
Than this glad life of ours, this wandering
Among the eternal winds that wander by?
Ever to fly, with white star-faces set
Quenchless against the darkness, and the wet
Pinions of all the storms,—on, on alone,
With radiant locks outblown,
And sun-strong eyes to see
Into the sunless maze of all futurity!
The bitter-sweet of summer that soon wanes,
The briefer benison of springtime rains;
Nay, but the thirst of all the living spheres,
Full-fed with mighty draughts of dark and light,—
The soul of all the dawns, the love of night,
The strength of deathless winters, and the boon
Of endless summer noon.
Look down, from star to star,
And see the centuries,—a flock of birds, afar.
Lifting on high the torches that are His,
Look forth to one another o’er the abyss,
And cry, Eternity,—and all is well!
So ever journey we, and only know
The way is His, and unto Him we go.
Through all the voiceless desert of the air
Through all the star-dust there,
Where none has ever gone,
Still singing, seeking still, we wander on and on.
Yet hath a strange dream touched me; for a cloud
Flared like a moth, within mine eyes. I bowed
My head, and, looking down through all the sky,
I saw the little Earth, far down below,—
The Earth that all the wandering winds do know.
Like some ground-bird, the small, beloved one
Fluttered about the sun.
Ah, were that little star
Only a signal-light of love for us, afar!