David Lester Richardson (1801–1865)

THE PLAIN of ocean ’neath the crystal air

Its azure bound extends; the circle wide

Is sharply clear; contrasted hues divide

The sky and water. Clouds, like hills that wear

The winter’s snow-wrought mantle, brightly fair,

Rest on the main’s blue marge. As shadows glide

O’er dew-decked fields, the calm ship seems to slide

O’er glassy paths that catch the noontide glare,

As if bestrewn with diamonds. Quickly play

The small crisp waves, that musically break

Their shining peaks. And now, if aught can make

Celestial spirits wing their downward way,

Methinks they glitter in the proud sun’s wake,

And breathe a glorious beauty on the day.