A Water Color

There's a picture in my room Lightens many an hour of gloom,—

Cheers me under fortune's frown And the drudgery of town.

Many and many a winter day When my soul sees all things gray,

Here is veritable June, Heart's content and spirit's boon.

It is scarce a hand-breadth wide, Not a span from side to side,

Yet it is an open door Looking back to joy once more,

Where the level marshes lie, A quiet journey of the eye,

And the unsubstantial blue Makes the fine illusion true.

So I forth and travel there In the blessed light and air,

Miles of green tranquillity Down the river to the sea.

Here the sea-birds roam at will, And the sea-wind on the hill

Brings the hollow pebbly roar From the dim and rosy shore,

With the very scent and draft Of the old sea's mighty craft.

I am standing on the dunes, By some charm that must be June's,

When the magic of her hand Lays a sea-spell on the land.

And the old enchantment falls On the blue-gray orchard walls

And the purple high-top boles, While the orange orioles

Flame and whistle through the green Of that paradisal scene.

Strolling idly for an hour Where the elder is in flower,

I can hear the bob-white call Down beyond the pasture wall.

Musing in the scented heat, Where the bayberry is sweet,

I can see the shadows run Up the cliff-side in the sun.

Or I cross the bridge and reach The mossers' houses on the beach,

Where the bathers on the sand Lie sea-freshened and sun-tanned.

Thus I pass the gates of time And the boundaries of clime,

Change the ugly man-made street For God's country green and sweet.

Fag of body, irk of mind, In a moment left behind,

Once more I possess my soul With the poise and self-control

Beauty gives the free of heart Through the sorcery of art.