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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339743" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>By the Camp Fire</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;<br>The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;<br>And yet how sweet the night has grown, with palest starlights dimly sown!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those mountain ranges, far and near, enclasp me,— sharply pencilled there,<br>Like blackest sea-waves,—outlined here, like phantoms in the luminous air,<br>Between that cold and quiet sky, and the calm river running by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gum-trees whisper overhead, and, delicately dark and fine,<br>Their lovely shadow-patterns shed across the paths of white moonshine.<br>The golden wattles glimmer bright, scenting this cool, transparent night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What spirits wake when earth is still? I hear wild wood-notes softly swell.<br>There's the strange clamour, hoarse and shrill, that drowns the bull-frogs' hollow<br>bell;<br>And there's the plaintive rise and fall of the lone mopoke's cuckoo-call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And nearer, an opossum flits above the firelight, pauses, peers—<br>I see a round ball where he sits, with pendant tail and pointed ears;<br>And two are gruffly snarling now in hollows of yon upper bough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark! that's the curlew's thrilling scream. What mountain echoes it has stirred!<br>The sound goes crying down the stream, the wildest bird-note ever heard.<br>And there's a crane, with legs updrawn, gone sailing out to meet the dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It croaks its farewell, like a crow, beating the air with soft, wide wings.<br>On the white water down below its vague grey shadow-shape it flings,<br>And, dream-like, passes out of sight, a lonely vision of the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah me! how weird the undertones that thrill my wake-ful fancy through!<br>The river softly creeps and moans; the wind seems faintly crying too.<br>Such whisperings seem to come and pass across the orchis-flower'd grass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The darkness gather'd all around is full of rustlings, strange and low,<br>The dead wood crackles on the ground, and shadowy shapes flit to and fro;<br>I think they are my own dim dreams, wandering amongst the woods and streams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tangled trees seem full of eyes,—still eyes that watch me as I sit;<br>A flame begins to fall and rise, their glances come and go with it.<br>And on the torn bark, rough and brown, I hear soft scratchings up and down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes I hear a sound of feet,—a slow step through the darkness steals;<br>And then I think of yours, my sweet, in spirit following at my heels;<br>For leagues before, around, behind, part me from all my human-kind.<br>Coo-ey!—the long vibration throbs in countless echoes through the hills.<br>The lonely forest wakes and sobs, and then no sound the silence fills,—<br>Only the night-frogs' bubbling shriek in every water-hole and creek;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only a rush of wind in flight, as startled wild-ducks flutter past,<br>Quivering and twinkling in the light, skimming the shining water fast;<br>And ripples from a black swan's breast, darting from out its rushy nest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How is't in England?—Sunday morn, and organ-music, love, with you.<br>That breath of memory, idly born, like a great storm-wind shakes me through.<br>Ah, darling! bend your head and pray,—it cannot touch you far away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why do I care? My house of God, beyond all thought, is grand and great!<br>My prayerful knees, upon the sod, its flowers and grasses consecrate.<br>And I can see Him in the stars, undimmed by walls and window-bars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Great Nature spreads her wondrous book, and shows me all her pages fair;<br>To me the language, when I look, seems but a letter here and there—<br>The very stones beneath me teach a lore beyond my utmost reach.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For all my pain, and toil, and strife, I see so dimly what is true!<br>O Art! O Science! O great Life! I grasp thee by so faint a clue!<br>No more of ocean tides I dream than minnows in their shallow stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sea without bottom, without shore, where is the plumb to fathom thee?<br>O mystery! as I learn thee more, the more thy deeps are dark to me!<br>But who am I, that I should scan the Divine Maker's mighty plan?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet, oh yet, if I could hear that organ-music once again,<br>My soul, methinks, would lose its fear; and on this troubled heart and brain<br>Some light of knowledge would be shed, and some few riddles would be read.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ada+Cambridge">Ada Cambridge</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339743" data-title="By the Camp Fire de Ada Cambridge" data-description="Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;
The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;
And yet how sweet the night has grown, with palest starlights dimly sown!

Those mountain ranges, far and near, e..."></div>
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