Once more the fickle birds return Across the sloping seas, And strew the tender fields again With their old melodies. The sky is magic as the month, Low sun, high stars between, The icy winds have washed it clear; But it, too, dreams of green. The boats are breathing on the sea; They cannot wait for men; Some undertide has brought them word Straight from a blue-starred fen. Unpiloted they steal away, No man shall see them soon, The sea birds follow but a mile, Then leave them to the moon. We, too, shall steal upon the spring With amber sails blown wide; Shall drop, some day, behind the moon, Borne on a star-blue tide. Enchanted ports we, too, shall touch, Cadiz or Cameroon; Nor other pilot need besides A magic wisp of moon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: TALK by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE MOUNTAIN WHIPPOORWILL (A GEORGIA ROMANCE) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE INCORRIGIBLE DIRIGIBLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH DRIVING INTO LARAMIE by JAMES GALVIN MY DEATH AS A GIRL I KNEW by JAMES GALVIN GUARDIANSHIP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |