The Secret Key

There is a magic kingdom of strange powers,

Thought-hidden, lit by other stars than ours;

And, when a wanderer through its mazes brings

Word of things seen, men say: “A poet sings.”

Its gates are guarded in a sterile land—

Mountain and deep morass, and shifting sand;

Storm-barred are they, and may not opened be

Save by the hand that finds the secret key.

That key, some say, lies in the sunset glow,

Or the white arc of dawn, or where the flow

Of some lone river stems the shoreward wave

In shuddering silver on its ocean grave.

Some say that when the wind wars with the sea,

In that stern music, one may find the key;

Or, in green glooms of forests, where the pine

Uplifts her spear amid great wreaths of vine;

Or, where the streaming mist’s white rollers climb

The dark ravine and precipice sublime—

A filmy sea that twines and intertwines

Wreathes the low hills, and veils the mighty lines

Of sovran mountains, crimsoned and aglow

In crystal pomp, crested with jewelled snow;

But still, with souls afire, men seek that land,

And die in deep morass and shifting sand.

To those alone its iron gates are free,

Who find, within their hearts, the secret key;

For Earth, with all the colour of her day,

Is not their country—that lies far away.

Comments(0)

Similar poems of author

By The Sea

Bright skies of summer o’er the deep,

   And soft salt air along the land,

The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,

   Sinks gently on the yellow sand;

And gray-winged seagulls slowly sweep

   O’er scattered bush and white-limbed tree

Where the red cliffs like bastions stand

   To front the salvos of the sea,

Continue reading...
129
0

A Grave By The Sea

No white cloud sails the lonely sky,

Thro’ the gaunt trees no breezes sigh,

Thro’ the lush grass no fall of feet;

    No song of bird in all the land,

But, floating faintly, dreamily,

The distant dirge of waves that beat

    In discontent upon the sand.

Here, where all Nature seems aswoon,

Continue reading...
178
0

The Spirit Of Poetry

All things are Hers. Concealed or manifest,

    Found or unfound, Her Spirit lives in each—

Dumb till the Master-Soul its secret guessed

                And gave its silence speech.

All things are Hers. She is the Crystal Queen

    Of all men’s vision, and the moving breath

Which through the greyness of the sordid scene

                Gloweth and quickeneth.

Continue reading...
181
0