A Voyage in the Rocking Chair(from Whisper!: 1893)
|Rocking Chair |
(courtesy of Waylin/pixabay)
Warm glint and gleam, a shadowy wall,
Showers of vivid red sparks that fall—
The rocking-chair swings low.
A long, gold, billowy sweep of sky:
Between that wondrous glory and me,
Flickering leaves on a poplar tree—
The rocking-chair swings high.
Now seems the world of the work-a-day
A dim coast-line, that lessens and dies.
Dreamily blissful, I sink and rise
With quiet rhythmic sway.
My pilot, Peace, brings me safe to far
Ideal Land. I drift with the tide,
Up the still waters that lie inside
The shining harbour bar.
Frances Wynne (1863-1893)