Poems (Radford)/At Duclair

by Dollie Radford

At Duclair

The song of songs my heart would make
 Is full as the great river is,
 Of summer's noon-day mysteries;
Of imaged orchards that do slake
A thirst within its flood to take
 Their rapture of cool dreams.

The sun's immortal nets that strive
 To catch the ripples as they move,
 The pools whose deepest waters prove
A haven all the heavens contrive,
Where summer clouds may come to drive
 Their cars and fleecy teams,—

The starry flowers that mark the way
 By grassy margins to the wood,
 The shining flowers whose quiet mood
Is as of starlight to the day,
All these are in my song to stay
 The floods of my desire.

The wandering shadows from the west
 That every summer twilight brings,
 To hold the stream with spreading wings,
And every fallen star whose quest
Is hidden in the river's breast,
 Burn in my song like fire,—

With all the passionate tides that bear
 The travail of the shrouded nights,
 When hanging from their gleaming lights,
Shining like jewels set in air,
Great boats, that through the darkness fare
 Sweep upwards from the sea.

So heavy in my song they lie,
 These summer mysteries that break
 My heart for love, that, for your sake,
If you should breathe one tiniest sigh
For love of me, the song would die,
 Its burden would be free.