In Wellfleet By The Sea
“Why do you dwell in Wellfleet by the sea?”
Inquires some wondering friend,
“Is this quaint village in the dunes the end
To life’s bright trail, the world that you have known
Shut out behind you? From a weed draped stone
“A barnacle might thus survey the sky,
“As the grand pageant of mankind sweeps by.”
To this I answer, “Not this quiet place
But vaster regions are his home as well
Who humbly seeks where the immortals dwell,
Those kingly souls of every clime and race.
The seven branching candlestick ablaze
With wisdom’s radiant light
Brightens his studious library at night
And sheds its all illuminating rays
Across the lengthening years,
Till loving presences sages and seers,
Are his true friends. Must he alone abide
With Socrates or Shakespeare as his guide?
Art’s priceless treasures stored in Greece or Rome
The mighty masters limned
By the slow lapse of centuries undimmed.
Fade into nothingness beneath the dome
Whereon a mightier Artist graves His lines
And blocks His bold designs;
For He can etch with lightnings, and His dyes
Are wrung from clouds that drip with red and gold,
While silent watchers, awestruck, may behold
His wonders blazoned on the midnight skies.
One need not dwell alone beside the sea,
There are no bars
To sunder Him who walked on Galilee
Or blur the vision of the loftiest stars
No solitary being, set apart,
Is he who feels the soul sustaining calm
Steal o’er his spirit like a healing balm
From Mother Nature’s all embracing heart.
His dreams are lulled by the resounding sea,
The rhythm of the waves that never tire,
While sweeter than the strains of Orpheus’ lyre
The dying wind’s melodious minstrelsy,
Ranging this narrow bourne of surf and sand,
Seems echoing from the horns of fairyland.
And when he strolls in solitude, the breeze
That breathes upon his face,
Was never curbed by this confining space,
For once it roamed the lonely Hebrides.
The murmuring tide
That swells the shallows of this pleasant bay,
Washed coral islands half a world away
And coursed through boundless oceans far and wide.
Rather he looks with sympathetic eye
As with their faces tense and shut from heaven
By scorpion whips of fear and envy driven
The jostling multitudes of men rush by;
Spurning the bounties kindly Nature gave
As though in haste for an untimely grave.
No shadows cast by avarice or pride
Darken this countryside;
That tyrant trinity, fame, wealth, and power
Have somehow lost their spell. Each passing hour
Bears costlier freight than theirs, the gifts divine -
Health, gratitude, content. Those gifts are mine
So why should reckless wastrels pity me
With all my wealth, in Wellfleet by the sea?