Martha's Vineyard 2015

That wind, that you would swear
 blew straight from heaven's beach,
and the water on the morning grass,
so gracious as to wash my feet,
are not sent by her to bless us, I suppose:
They're just the island's anthem
sung for anyone,
that takes no more than nature to compose.
But if I choose to hear her
talking of her happiness,
and say her tears have dried upon the rose,
who would counter?
Harmless fancy only warms the heart,
and here if anywhere I'd meet her,
and feel there is no need for us to part.

July 9 2015