Sea-Gulls at Fresh Pond

O lake of boyish dreams! I linger round Thy calm, clear waters and thine altered shores Till thought brings back the plash of childhood's oars,— Long hid in memory's depths, a vanished sound. Alone unchanged, the sea-birds yet are found Far floating on thy wave by threes and fours, Or grouped in hundreds, while a white gull soars, Safe, beyond gunshot of the hostile ground. I am no nearer to those joyous birds Than when, long since, I watched them as a child; Nor am I nearer to that flock more wild, Most shy and vague of all elusive things, My unattainable thoughts, unreached by words. I see the flight, but never touch the wings.