In Wellfleet By The Sea

“Why do you dwell in Wellfleet by the sea?” Inquires some wondering friend, “Is this quaint village in the dunes the end To life’s bright trail, the world that you have known Shut out behind you? From a weed draped stone “A barnacle might thus survey the sky, “As the grand pageant of mankind sweeps by.” To this I answer, “Not this quiet place But vaster regions are his home as well Who humbly seeks where the immortals dwell, Those kingly souls of every clime and race. The seven branching candlestick ablaze With wisdom’s radiant light Brightens his studious library at night And sheds its all illuminating rays Across the lengthening years, Till loving presences sages and seers, Are his true friends. Must he alone abide With Socrates or Shakespeare as his guide? Art’s priceless treasures stored in Greece or Rome The mighty masters limned By the slow lapse of centuries undimmed. Fade into nothingness beneath the dome Whereon a mightier Artist graves His lines And blocks His bold designs; For He can etch with lightnings, and His dyes Are wrung from clouds that drip with red and gold, While silent watchers, awestruck, may behold His wonders blazoned on the midnight skies. One need not dwell alone beside the sea, There are no bars To sunder Him who walked on Galilee Or blur the vision of the loftiest stars No solitary being, set apart, Is he who feels the soul sustaining calm Steal o’er his spirit like a healing balm From Mother Nature’s all embracing heart. His dreams are lulled by the resounding sea, The rhythm of the waves that never tire, While sweeter than the strains of Orpheus’ lyre The dying wind’s melodious minstrelsy, Ranging this narrow bourne of surf and sand, Seems echoing from the horns of fairyland. And when he strolls in solitude, the breeze That breathes upon his face, Was never curbed by this confining space, For once it roamed the lonely Hebrides. The murmuring tide That swells the shallows of this pleasant bay, Washed coral islands half a world away And coursed through boundless oceans far and wide. Rather he looks with sympathetic eye As with their faces tense and shut from heaven By scorpion whips of fear and envy driven The jostling multitudes of men rush by; Spurning the bounties kindly Nature gave As though in haste for an untimely grave. No shadows cast by avarice or pride Darken this countryside; That tyrant trinity, fame, wealth, and power Have somehow lost their spell. Each passing hour Bears costlier freight than theirs, the gifts divine - Health, gratitude, content. Those gifts are mine So why should reckless wastrels pity me With all my wealth, in Wellfleet by the sea?