Adrift with the Cloud-Mother

They two, away from the chattering throng,
     Alone on the swing of a shoreless tide,
By the whispering winds were wafted along
     Into regions weird and wide.
The drowsy wing of the Angel of Mist
     Was over the water and over the sky,
And the silent air their foreheads kissed,
     As her soft plumes floated by.

For the dear Cloud-Mother wrapped them round –
     Upon either cheek her moist palm held
Caressing and tender – while came no sound
     But the rustle their shallop made,
Or the cry of the term from his rosy beak.
     His white wing sweeping athwart their sail,
Or afar the great loon’s tremulous shriek
     Like a drowning seaman’s wail.

Tall phantom ships from the dim unknown
     Slid silently out of the spectral dark
And vanished forever, and they were alone
     On a desert that kept no mark!
The heavens were gray and the waters gray,
     And gray was the mantle that round them clung;
But the rosiest light of inward day
     Sunned hearts forever young!

The closer that mantle of mist was drawn,
     Yet closer their hearts were beneath it pressed;
For earth and its babble were hushed and gone
     From the peace in either breast.
They thanked the Mother whose misty veil
     Shut out the world from their cradle’s fold;
On their silent lips was a sweeter tale
     Than ever the loud tongue told.     

Oh, all the long day to float and float,
     And all the night long so serenely to drift,
With their two hearts beating to one low note,
     Afar from the rude world’s thrift,
Were enough of Eden and life and light; –
     They want no sun who have warmer beams,
No moon, with their white love’s purer white,
     No world but their golden dreams.