My Eyes Make Pictures.

"My eyes make pictures, when they are shut."
        COLERIDGE.


Fair morn, I bring my greeting
    To lofty skies, and pale,
Save where cloud-shreds are fleeting
    Before the driving gale,
The weary branches tossing,
    Careless of autumn's grief,
Shadow and sunlight crossing
    On each earth-spotted leaf.

I will escape their grieving;
    And so I close my eyes,
And see the light boat heaving
    Where the billows fall and rise;
I see the sunlight glancing
    Upon its silvery sail,
Where a youth's wild heart is dancing,
    And a maiden growing pale.

And I am quietly pacing
    The smooth stones o'er and o'er,
Where the merry waves are chasing
    Each other to the shore.
Words come to me while listening
    Where the rocks and waters meet,
And the little shells are glistening
    In sand-pools at my feet.

Away! the white sail gleaming!
    Again I close my eyes,
And the autumn light is streaming
    From pale blue cloudless skies;
Upon the lone hill falling
    'Mid the sound of heather-bells,
Where the running stream is calling
    Unto the silent wells.

Along the pathway lonely,
    My horse and I move slow;
No living thing, save only
    The home-returning crow.
And the moon, so large, is peering
    Up through the white cloud foam;
And I am gladly nearing
    My father's house, my home.

As I were gently dreaming
    The solemn trees look out;
The hills, the waters seeming
    In still sleep round about;
And in my soul are ringing
    Tones of a spirit-lyre,
As my beloved were singing
    Amid a sister-choir.

If peace were in my spirit,
    How oft I'd close my eyes,
And all the earth inherit,
    And all the changeful skies!
Thus leave the sermon dreary,
    Thus leave the lonely hearth;
No more a spirit weary--
    A free one of the earth!