Helen Gray Cone

A Memory

  Though pent in stony streets, 'tis joy to know,
  'Tis joy, although we breathe a fainter air,
  The spirit of those places far and fair
  That we have loved, abides; and fern-scents flow
  Out of the wood's heart still, and shadows grow
  Long on remembered roads as warm days wear;
  And still the dark wild water, in its lair,
  The narrow chasm, stirs blindly to and fro.

  Delight is in the sea-gull's dancing wings,
  And sunshine wakes to rose the ruddy hue
  Of rocks; and from her tall wind-slanted stem
  A soft bright plume the goldenrod outflings
  Along the breeze, above a sea whose blue
  Is like the light that kindles through a gem.