The Fragrance Of The Cape
The sun, that sovereign alchemist, and winds
That do his bidding, gleaning from the wilds
Sweet essences and savory condiments
Have mingled them in that vast crucible
Of hill and hollow, swamp and circling sea,
And like the witch’s cauldrons, from that brew
Evoked a fragrance sweet as Araby.
The honeyed breath of Mayflowers in the spring,
The nectar lingering in the elfin cups
Of purple lilacs, fairy scents distilled
By pendant locust blossoms, essences
That lade the air when the wild roses bloom
In scarlet flames that beautify the hills;
The resinous aroma of the pines
In summer heats when crows call languidly
To droning bumble bees and gulls float past
Like wisps of snowy cloud; the musk of swamps
Where swaying cat tails shimmer in the sun
And the noon stillness echoes to the calls
Of blackbirds clarion shrill; the pungent smell
Of sage grass by the tidal pool, the spice
Of sweet fern from the hillsides redolent
With beachplum and the subtle frankincense
Of waxen bayberry, and over all
The faint, elusive permeating scent
Of sand and salt and spray from shore and sea.
The mace and cinnamon of far off isles
Are in that odor intimate and quaint
And lasting as the memories that cling
To weathered houses, gardens colorful
With hollyhocks and dahlias, rimmed with shells;
Or stranded hulls that brood in lonely coves
By crumbling piers where once proud vessels lay.
The romance and adventure of those days
When stanch descendants of the Pilgrim band
Carved out from sand and wilderness their homes
And wrung a hard subsistence from the deep,
Still linger in the memories of that time,
And in the perfume subtle, vague and strange
That charm elusive as the whispering breeze,
Sad as the setting sun athwart the dunes,
Mysterious as the ever changing sea,
The wild sweet, haunting fragrance of the Cape.