Upon The Cliff

Upon the cliff, a wintry tale speaks,
Where evergreens hold out for light;
I see the ocean fuming,
The native winds with all their might.
As seagulls call their echoed cry,
Over the crests and frothy white,
Shall I stay as beauty lingers?
Above the waves, an awe-filled sight.
Here away far from ceaseless stir,
Where each breath is slower and near the stars,
The tides and shallows pull me close—
And days become the bright, brave hours!

• Sarah Orne Jewett