Starts from a troubled sleep,
Where roaring thro' the narrow straits
The meeting waters leap;
But still that shining pathway leads
Across the lonely deep.
Where unknown dangers be,
And cross the troubled, moaning bar
To the mysterious sea—
Dear God, wilt thou not set a lamp
Low in the West for me?
The Evergreen Pine
Of this poem Mrs. Higginson says: "'The Evergreen Pine' was being written nearly all my life. It was one of several poems—like the 'Grand Ronde Valley'—that lived in me from childhood, growing line by line every time I saw a pine in its full beauty in spring. (I paused here to look out upon two near my window. I dug them up in the woods when they were a foot high and planted them here my self and now they are big and lovely, and light all their candles for me every May). The poem was finally finished and copyrighted by myself and printed upon a special card as a gift to the State Federation of Women's Clubs for their convention in 1915. That was the first printing, but it was probably copied in a Federation bulletin. I have considered it one of my best poems, but may not be a competent judge."
The sunsets burn and flee;
The stars come to the darkling sky,
The violets to the lea;
But I stay in one lone sweet place
And dream of the blue sea.
The harebell blooms and is away
The salmon spawns and dies;
The oriole nests and is on the wing,
Calling her sweet good-bys....
