Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith

At Anchor

Swing to the harbor from the deep sea,
O Sail of mine, but hold the sea in sight!
These are my fronded palms, my cocoa tree,
And these the islands of my heart’s delight!

My lift of emerald hills against the blue
From blue; the feathery mists of waterfalls;
The winged gems that flash the foliage through,
Filling the air with fluted madrigals.

The wash of waves upon the coral reef-
O song familiar, of the long ago! -
The lap of waves, where blade and lance and leaf,
Fringing the water’s rim, are glassed below.

And here my tawny Comrades laugh, and reach
Warm hands of mine-the dear brown hands I knew-
With glad, glad greetings in soft-voweled speech,
From hearts that have remembered and been true.

Long have I wandered, tossed by storm tides,
Benumbered in calms-but here, how sure the sea!
Furl the worn sails-the ship at anchor rides-
Leave me with these! Leave me to these and Thee!

1. The Captive of the White City
2. Two
3. Bret Harte (A stir of pines in the forest)
4. Meadowlarks
5. The Day of Our Lord

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