The Loon

On wooded height the slanting light

    In glinting, gleaming radiance falls,

And softly sifts throught opening rifts

    That cleave the fog-bank's hazy walls.

The splendor thrills from purple hills,

    And lights the grassy circling swell;

But, hist! awake! From off the lake

    The loon's wild cries, with sprite-like spell,

"Ke-woi-o! Ke-we-oi-o!"

In bluest sky the fleece clouds lie,

    In floating fancies slow unfolding;

The village spire is tipped with fire,

    Reflections bright from golden moulding.

While close around, in slumber bound,

    The roofs of modest mansions rise.

The silence breaks! From off the lake's

    Unrippled reach, the loon's wild cries,

"Ke-woi-o! Ke-we-oi-o!"

"Oh, tell my why," I weary cry,

    "A world so peaceful, fair, and pure,

Must still be rife with crime and strife?

    Why sin and sorrow must endure?

Why labor's slave, whose spirits crave

    Such beauty, ne'er can steal a glance?"

My sole reply, the loon's wild cry,

    Again returned in echo's chance,

"Ke-woi-o! Ke-we-oi-o!"

George Charles Selden

Index to poems in the collection by George Charles Selden