Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea? Somehow my soul seems suddenly free From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin, By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn. Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothingwithholding and free Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea! Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun, Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won God out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain And sight out of blindness and purity out of stain. As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod, Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God: I will fly in the greatness of God as the marshhen flies In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies: 70 By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God: Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn. And the sea lends large, as the marsh: lo, out of his plenty the sea Pours fast full soon the time of the flood-tide must be: Look how the grace of the sea doth go About and about through the intricate channels that flow Here and there Everywhere, 80 Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lying lanes, And the marsh is meshed with a million veins, That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow In the rose-and-silver evening glow. Farewell, my lord Sun! The creeks overflow: a thousand rivulets run 'Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh-grass stir; 90 Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr ; Passeth, and all is still; and the currents cease to run; And the sea and the marsh are one. How still the plains of the waters be! The tide is in his ecstasy. The tide is at his highest height; And it is night. And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters sleep Roll in on the souls of men, But who will reveal to our waking ken The forms that swim and the shapes that creep Under the waters of sleep? 100 And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in. On the length and breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn. 1879. Sidney Lanier. LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE MANY a green isle needs must be Day and night, and night and day, Death from the o'erbrimming deep; O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave. What, if there no friends will greet; In friendship's smile, in love's caress? That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortured lips and brow, Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon December's bough. 20 30 40 As once the wretch there lay to sleep, One white skull and seven dry bones, Where a few gray rushes stand, Through the pomp of fratricides: There is many a mournful sound; Like a sunless vapor, dim, Who once clothed with life and thought Ay, many flowering islands lie With which the legioned rooks did hail Gathering round with wings all hoar, Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven 50 60 70 |