d cream,
Over their heads in a painted mist the myriad
insects gleam.
And the still sea sways in the sun's soft breath
and breaks on the green, green sand,
Till I bare my limbs to the noiseless surf
and wade from the silent land.

The pale stalks eddy from knee to waist and rise
to my sun-flecked face;
Cool on my lips is the daisy foam and the spray
of the Queen Anne's lace.
With half-shut eyes and outstretched arms I swim
through the scented heat.
Oh, never were broad sea winds so warm,
nor Southern seas so sweet?

There's Music in My Heart To-day

There's music in my heart to-day;
The Master-hand is on the keys,
Calling me up to the windy hills
And down to the purple seas.

Let Time draw back when I hear that tune--
Old to the soul when the stars were new--
And swing the doors to the four great winds,
That my feet may wander through.

North or South, and East or West;
Over the rim with the bellied sails,
From the mountain's feet to the empty plains,
Or down the silent trails--

It matters not which door you choose;
The same clear tune blows through them all,
Though one harp leaps to the grind of seas
And one to the rain-bird's call.

However you hide in the city's din
And drown your ears with its siren songs,
Some day steal in those thin, wild notes,
And you leave the foolish throngs.

God grant that the day will find me not
When the tune shall mellow and thrill in vain--
So long as the plains are red with sun,
And the woods are black with rain.

August on the River

The swooning heat of August
Swims along the valley's bed.
The tall reeds burn and blacken,
While the gray elm droops its head,
And the smoky sun above the hills is glaring
hot and red.

Along the shrinking river,
Where the salmon-nets hang brown,
Piles the driftwood of the freshets,
And the naked logs move down
To the clanking chains and shrieking saws
of the mills above the town.

Outside the booms of cedar,
The fish-hawks drop at noon;
When night comes trailing up the stars,
We hear the ghostly loon;
And watch the herons swing their flight
against the crimson moon.

The Wind Tongues

I wandered in the woodlands where the red glades begin,
An