The Rocks of Mt. Desert

E. M. T., in “The Columbia Spectator”

THE SOFT light of the setting sun

Across the water lay,

And dark against its glory rose

The islands of the bay;

The air was still, upon the shore

The pine-trees stood inert,

The quiet sea broke softly on

The rocks of Mt. Desert.

The placid water mirrored back

The glory of the skies,

But all the glow I heeded not

For the light of two soft eyes;

And often as, so slightly raised,

They did to mine revert,

No paradise, I felt, was like

The rocks of Mt. Desert.

The murmuring sea I did not hear,

For a voice of music sweet

That thrilled my heart, until I thought

I almost heard it beat;

For all was still, upon the shore

The pine-trees stood inert,

No sighing breezes swept across

The rocks of Mt. Desert.

The sunset died, the sobbing sea

I heard along the shore;

That thrilling voice, those tender eyes,

Are gone forevermore.

She is not dead or gone away,

The fickle little flirt,

But glorifies, to other eyes,

The rocks of Mt. Desert.