Page:Poems Thaxter.djvu/30

That schooner, you remember? Flying ghost!
 Her canvas catching every wandering beam,
Aerial, noiseless, past the glimmering coast
 She glided like a dream.

Would we were leaning from your window now,
 Together calling to the eerie loon,
The fresh wind blowing care from either brow,
 This sumptuous night of June!

So many sighs load this sweet inland air,
 'Tis hard to breathe, nor can we find relief,—
However lightly touched we all must share
 This nobleness of grief.

But sighs are spent before they reach your ear;
 Vaguely they mingle with the water's rune.
No sadder sound salutes you than the clear,
 Wild laughter of the loon.