| |
| PURPLE headland over yonder, | |
| Fleecy, sun-extinguished moon, | |
| I am here alone, and ponder | |
| On the theme of Afternoon. | |
| |
| Past has made a groove for Present, | 5 |
| And what fits it is: no more. | |
| Waves before the wind are weighty; | |
| Strongest sea-beats shape the shore. | |
| |
| Just what is is just what can be, | |
| And the Possible is free; | 10 |
| ’Tis by being, not by effort, | |
| That the firm cliff juts to sea. | |
| |
| With an uncontentious calmness | |
| Drifts the Fact before the “Law”; | |
| So we name the ordered sequence | 15 |
| We, remembering, foresaw. | |
| |
| And a law is mere procession | |
| Of the forcible and fit; | |
| Calm of uncontested Being, | |
| And our thought that comes of it. | 20 |
| |
| In the mellow shining daylight | |
| Lies the Afternoon at ease, | |
| Little willing ripples answer | |
| To a drift of casual breeze. | |
| |
| Purple headland to the westward! | 25 |
| Ebbing tide, and fleecy moon! | |
| In the “line of least resistance,” | |
| Flows the life of Afternoon. |
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