Элис Хант Бартлетт (Alice Hunt Bartlett)

Revisited

  (Nantucket)

The little shingled town looks sweet to-night,
To one who journeyed here long years before:
The baberry blows fragrant from the shore,
Where ghostly grey the town leans toward the light
. . . As it were, summoned to the inner sight
Are those we loved to meet in days of yore,
They seem just past a partly open door—
A place well known in dreams but standing quite
Beyond the outer rim of “every-day,”
Beyond the gates of night, the bars of dawn,
Where visions grow and this world fades away
And where, perhaps, at times, man is withdrawn—
There, to his heart’s desire, who shall say?
Through areas of longing he is borne.

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