WRITTEN ON THE MAINLAND 

In all the moss-deep silences,
And all the dappled wells
Of silence, gray and green and gold,
In closely woven spells

 The trees make, in the island’s heart–
Still half-uncaptured we
Within ourselves must hear the sound
Of slanting, murmurous sea.

 It is an island’s value that
Each least thing, stone or grass,
Is framed with that immensity,
That forceful nakedness.

 There is no ocean here, there’s no
Eclipse or emphasis.
But surely there is time and space
Surrounding now and this.

 Then think no single moment here,
But think the whole; and we
Shall be more calm and more amazed
Remembering the sea.

 Jean Gowdey

12/9/47