A Strip of Blue

I do not own an inch of land, But all I see is mine,⁠— The orchard and the mowing-fields, The lawns and gardens fine. The winds my tax-collectors are, They bring me tithes divine,⁠— Wild scents and subtle essences, A tribute rare and free; And, more magnificent than all, My window keeps for me A glimpse of blue immensity,⁠— A little strip of sea. Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies; I have a share in every ship Won by the inland breeze To loiter on yon airy road, Above the apple-trees. I freight them with my untold dreams; Each bears my own picked crew; And nobler cargoes wait for them Than ever India knew,⁠— My ships that sail into the East Across that outlet blue.