Long Island Sound

I see it as it looked one afternoon In August,-by a fresh soft breeze o'erblown.

The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,

A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.

The shining waters with pale currents strewn,

The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove,

The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.

The luminous grasses, and the merry sun In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide,

Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide,

Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.

All these fair sounds and sights I made my own.