Helen Gray Cone
Helen Gray Cone Poems
|42.||Sonnet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow||4/22/2010|
|47.||A Fairy Tale||4/22/2010|
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Though pent in stony streets, 'tis joy to know,
'Tis joy, although we breathe a fainter air,
The spirit of those places far and fair
That we have loved, abides; and fern-scents flow
Out of the wood's heart still, and shadows grow
Long on remembered roads as warm days wear;
And still the dark wild water, in its lair,
The narrow chasm, stirs blindly to and fro.
Delight is in the sea-gull's dancing wings,
And sunshine wakes to rose the ruddy hue
Of rocks; and from her tall wind-slanted stem
A soft bright plume the goldenrod outflings
Along the breeze, above...
That sunless day no living shadow swept
Across the hills, fleet shadow chasing light,
Twin of the sailing cloud: but, mists wool white,
Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept,
And wrought about the strong hills while they slept
In witches' wise, and rapt their forms from sight.
Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest height
And farthest; and the chilly woodland wept.