Beaver-Tail Rocks Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell

FARE forth my soul, fare forth, and take thine own;
The silver morning and the golden eve
Wait, as the virgins waited to receive
The bridegroom and the bride, with roses strown;
Fare forth and lift her veil,—the bride is joy alone!
To thee the friendly hours with her shall bring
The changeless trust that bird and poet sing;
Her dower to-day shall be the asters sown
On breezy uplands; hers the vigor brought
Upon the north wind's wing, and hers for thee
A stately heritage of land and sea,
And all that nature hath, and all the great have thought,
While low she whispers like a sea-born shell
Things that thy love may hear but never tell.