THE GRAPES OF ESHCOL

I HAVE not entered in: across my way, Shining and deep, a silent river lies; But sometimes, in the dawning of the day, I see the vision of its vineyards rise. And once, when Joy and I walked hand in hand, One passed, his staff with purple clusters bent; The winey juices dripped along the sand, And all the air throbbed fragrance as he went. He spake no word, but in his eyes there shone The steady radiance of the evening star, And wooing breath of music, lightly blown By fitful winds, came stealing from afar. And still I wait till, on some raptured morn, Astir with wings, and tremulous with light, The grapes of Eschol, through the desert borne, May gleam again upon my eager sight. Tranquil and cool, a little path will run Through smiling meadows downward to the sea. Through fruitful vineyards shining in the sun, And Joy, that fled, will walk again with me.