The Poems of Emma Lazarus, Volume 1

LONG ISLAND SOUND.

     I see it as it looked one afternoon
     In August,—by a fresh soft breeze o'erblown.
     The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,
     A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.
     The shining waters with pale currents strewn,
     The quiet fishing smacks, the Eastern cove,
     The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.
     The luminous grasses, and the merry sun
     In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide,
     Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp
     Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide,
     Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep
     Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.
     All these fair sounds and sights I made my own.