The Fragrance Of The Cape

The sun, that sovereign alchemist, and winds That do his bidding, gleaning from the wilds Sweet essences and savory condiments Have mingled them in that vast crucible Of hill and hollow, swamp and circling sea, And like the witch’s cauldrons, from that brew Evoked a fragrance sweet as Araby. The honeyed breath of Mayflowers in the spring, The nectar lingering in the elfin cups Of purple lilacs, fairy scents distilled By pendant locust blossoms, essences That lade the air when the wild roses bloom In scarlet flames that beautify the hills; The resinous aroma of the pines In summer heats when crows call languidly To droning bumble bees and gulls float past Like wisps of snowy cloud; the musk of swamps Where swaying cat tails shimmer in the sun And the noon stillness echoes to the calls Of blackbirds clarion shrill; the pungent smell Of sage grass by the tidal pool, the spice Of sweet fern from the hillsides redolent With beachplum and the subtle frankincense Of waxen bayberry, and over all The faint, elusive permeating scent Of sand and salt and spray from shore and sea. The mace and cinnamon of far off isles Are in that odor intimate and quaint And lasting as the memories that cling To weathered houses, gardens colorful With hollyhocks and dahlias, rimmed with shells; Or stranded hulls that brood in lonely coves By crumbling piers where once proud vessels lay. The romance and adventure of those days When stanch descendants of the Pilgrim band Carved out from sand and wilderness their homes And wrung a hard subsistence from the deep, Still linger in the memories of that time, And in the perfume subtle, vague and strange That charm elusive as the whispering breeze, Sad as the setting sun athwart the dunes, Mysterious as the ever changing sea, The wild sweet, haunting fragrance of the Cape.