Upon the marsh a filmy blur As delicate as gossamer; A wraith of fog, a vaporous wisp With stem and leaves and branches crisp, Their fibre toughened by the gale, Can plant so hardy seem so frail? Half hidden mid its stalks of green The flowerets are scarcely seen As dainty specks of ocean’s blue, Or bits of sky that filtered through, To melt in tints of amethyst As evanescent as the mist. And now through many a lacey line That fairy fingers intertwine Upon my mantelpiece at last You shed the fragrance of the past; A wraith of marshland witchery - A floral memory of the sea. THE FINAL ROSE From an ember bud that glows, In September flames a rose. Bursting prison doors of bark, Blithely risen like a lark. Sweetly winging to my room, Ever singing in perfume. Tardy comer, woodsprite blest, Dying summer’s last and best! [Illustration] FAIRY RINGS Far and near on every hand Fairy rings bedeck the sand, Footprints of the sportive elves Dancing gaily with themselves; Hand in hand and round and round Treading circles on the ground Nightly, by the glow worm’s ray To the cricket’s roundelay. Ardently each woodland gnome Clasps a fairy from the foam, Waltzing till the wondering moon Sees each circle as a rune In a maze of mystery For the puzzled stars to see, While the revellers at dawn Leave a myriad circles drawn. Or perchance the compass grass Whirled by wandering airs that pass Has engraved those strange designs In its circumscribed confines. Archimedes never drew Circles more exact or true Than each needle pointed blade Razor edged and green as jade. Can we delve the cryptic sense From each grooved circumference? In the grass that etched those rings What immortal spirit springs? Or what inspirations stir The bewitched geometer To such elfin tracery On the sands beside the sea? BEACH PLUMS How daintily your blossoms cling Like memories of winter snows; The maiden promises of spring That Nature, wakening, bestows; White as a bridal veil of gauze O’er branches gnarled like eagle’s claws. How richly ripe and purple hued You lure the eager appetite When autumn yields in kindliest mood Those luscious globules of delight! The sylvan elves must brew that taste From sea and dune and scented waste. For only skill like theirs could blend From woodland wild and rolling brine Such flavors. Or perchance they lend Their elven powers to those divine So that the tang of earth and sky Is mingled in their alchemy.