DRIFTING
by: Thomas Buchanan Read
(1822-1872)
- Y soul to-day
- Is far away,
- Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;
- My wingèd boat,
- A bird afloat,
- Swings round the purple peaks remote:--
-
- Round purple peaks
- It sails, and seeks
- Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,
- Where high rocks throw,
- Through deeps below,
- A duplicated golden glow.
-
- Far, vague, and dim,
- The mountains swim;
- While on Vesuvius' misty brim,
- With outstretched hands,
- The gray smoke stands
- O'erlooking the volcanic lands.
-
- Here Ischia smiles
- O'er liquid miles;
- And yonder, bluest of the isles,
- Calm Capri waits,
- Her sapphire gates
- Beguiling to her bright estates.
-
- I heed not if
- My rippling skiff
- Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;
- With dreamful eyes
- My spirit lies
- Under the walls of Paradise.
-
- Under the walls
- Where swells and falls
- The Bay's deep breast at intervals,
- At peace I lie,
- Blown softly by,
- A cloud upon this liquid sky.
-
- The day, so mild,
- Is Heaven's own child,
- With Earth and Ocean reconciled;
- The airs I feel
- Around me steal
- Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.
-
- Over the rail
- My hand I trail
- Within the shadow of the sail,
- A joy intense,
- The cooling sense
- Glides down my drowsy indolence.
-
- With dreamful eyes
- My spirit lies
- Where Summer sings and never dies,--
- O'erveiled with vines
- She glows and shines
- Among her future oil and wines.
-
- Her children, hid
- The cliffs amid,
- Are gamboling with the gamboling kid;
- Or down the walls,
- With tipsy calls,
- Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls.
-
- The fisher's child,
- With tresses wild,
- Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,
- With glowing lips
- Sings as she skips,
- Or gazes at the far-off ships.
-
- Yon deep bark goes
- Where traffic blows,
- From lands of sun to lands of snows;--
- This happier one,
- Its course is run
- From lands of snow to lands of sun.
-
- O happy ship,
- To rise and dip,
- With the blue crystal at your lip!
- O happy crew,
- My heart with you
- Sails, and sails, and sings anew!
-
- No more, no more
- The worldly shore
- Upbraids me with its loud uproar!
- With dreamful eyes
- My spirit lies
- Under the walls of Paradise!
"Drifting" is reprinted
from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed.
Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915. |
MORE POEMS BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ |
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