A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Le Fond de la Mer (Joseph Autran)
LE FOND DE LA MER.
In April or October, when the weather is fairest,
And the colours in heaven and on earth are the rarest,
Who has not often spent long hours by the ocean
When it lay spread at his feet, without ripple or motion,
Contemplating dreamily the picture of wonder
That smiled in the sunlight the blue mirror under!
For me, I know not a sight more entrancing.
Down—down in the wave, first of all, are seen glancing,
Dazzling the eyes with their reflections prismatic,
Gems whose rich lustre would make artists ecstatic,
And ravish king's hearts, and convert with their glory
A hundred strange ruins, dark, crumbled and hoary,
To Aladdin's palaces of the famed Arab story.
Then looked at minutely each gem in its station.
What hues! Oh, what hues! blue, orange, carnation,
Amethyst, onyx, agate, and the ruby that blushes,
And pearl and carbuncle that send light out in gushes,
All by the waves patient polished for ages and ages,
While carried hither and thither by the wind as it rages.
Ah! What flashes of lightning! What shades soft and tender!
But these jewels that make the eyes wink with their splendour
Submerged in the waters with the sun shining brightly,
What are they? On the dry land, mere pebbles unsightly.
After this long ribbon of the gems of the fairies
Extends the fresh verdure of the ever-green prairies,
Such as Spring generous with warm breathings never
Drew forth on soil fertile. Oh, lovely for ever
Are the gardens of ocean that no sunbeams can wither.
No flower is on earth, but its semblance has hither.
Look, look at these orchards where each tree is uprearing
In enamel its crest, with the fruit-clusters peering,
And its blossoms in shadow, like the Orient's veiled daughters!
How beautiful all,—in the soft gauze of the waters!