Showing posts with label Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Show all posts

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Till my soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.

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Oh, be still my heart, why does the entire earth not look like this?

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While on a visit to Archipelago Resort in Vilanculos, Mozambique, we visited this uninhabited gem.

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with Indian Ocean water so clear, it's unbelievable.

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Benguerra Island is just so tranquil, so beautiful.

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The foot prints of my snorkeling shoes.
It seemed a pity, even to put my feet in the water,
to leave a mark about the deserted sand.


Inspiration for the blog's title:

The Secret of the Sea
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
As I gaze upon the sea!
All the old romantic legends,
All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,
Such as gleam in ancient lore;
And the singing of the sailors,
And the answer from the shore!

Most of all, the Spanish ballad
Haunts me oft, and tarries long,
Of the noble Count Arnaldos
And the sailor's mystic song.

Like the long waves on a sea-beach,
Where the sand as silver shines,
With a soft, monotonous cadence,
Flow its unrhymed lyric lines:--

Telling how the Count Arnaldos,
With his hawk upon his hand,
Saw a fair and stately galley,
Steering onward to the land;--

How he heard the ancient helmsman
Chant a song so wild and clear,
That the sailing sea-bird slowly
Poised upon the mast to hear,

Till his soul was full of longing,
And he cried, with impulse strong,--
"Helmsman! for the love of heaven, 
Teach me, too, that wondrous song!"

"Wouldst thou,"--so the helmsman answered,
"Learn the secret of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery!"

In each sail that skims the horizon,
In each landward-blowing breeze,
I behold that stately galley,
Hear those mournful melodies;

Till my soul is full of longing
For the secret of the sea,
And the heart of the great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me.


Text of the poem borrowed from here.



Saturday, January 14, 2012

Sapphire sea the sun sails like a golden galleon

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The Cherry Blossom in harbor in Old Town Alexandria, Virginia, United States

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The twilight of the day was breathtaking with the boats and water of Old Town's harbor.

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The harbor.

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The Cherry Blossom overlooking more of the harbor and boats.

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The Potomac River.

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The path next to Founder's Park and the Potomac River in Old Town.

This series of photos and all the fantastic memories I have of Old Town Alexandria
reminded me of this poem--the inspiration for the post's title:

A Day of Sunshine

                                                                                                 O gift of God! O perfect day:
                                                                                                  Whereon shall no man work, but play;
                                                                                                  Whereon it is enough for me,
                                                                                                   Not to be doing, but to be!
                                                                                                   Through ever fiber of my brain,
                                                                                                   Through every nerve, through every vein,
                                                                                                   I feel the electric thrill, the touch
                                                                                                   Of life, that seems almost too much.
                                                                                                   I hear the wind among the trees
                                                                                                   Playing celestial symphonies;
                                                                                                   I see the branches downward bent,
                                                                                                   Like keys of some great instrument.
                                                                                                   And over me unrolls on high
                                                                                                   The splendid scenery of the sky,
                                                                                                   Where through a sapphire sea the sun
                                                                                                   Sails like a golden galleon,
                                                                                                   Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,
                                                                                                   Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
                                                                                                   Whose steep sierra far uplifts
                                                                                                   Its craggy summits white with drifts.
                                                                                                   Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms
                                                                                                   The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!
                                                                                                   Blow, winds! and bend within my reach
                                                                                                   The fiery blossoms of the peach!
                                                                                                   O Life and Love! O happy throng
                                                                                                   Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!
                                                                                                   O heart of man! canst thou not be
                                                                                                   Blithe as the air, and as free?

                                                                                                   Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



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