The Mystery of the Mist

THE Mystery of the mist is calling me
Across the marshes’ silvery solitudes,
By phantom inlets and gray bordering woods
To surging silence of a hidden sea.
Swathed in a twilight haze of amethyst,
Beyond the salty sedges lies the verge
Of immemorial oceans’ endless surge,
Entranced by the still Mystery of the mist.
Her hair, fog-woven, gleams across my gaze,
I touch her garment by the silent sea,
And would behold the face of Mystery,
Close-clouded in the tender purple haze.
Low whispered voices of her wildering spell
Allure me softly to the tremulous brink
Of waters wide and strange, where souls may sink
In waves mist-mantled, arms invisible.
If I could sway the curtain of the night,
And pierce the vapory darknesses that rise
To hide the revelation in her eyes,
Soft quivering on the very marge of sight;
If I might disenchant the spellbound space,
To see beyond the veil that may not move
For mortals; if my soul and sense could prove
The beauty of her mist-enfolded face;
Perchance her loving penalty would be
To lay a darkness on my earthly sight,
And lead me forth to lands of other light
Far out beyond these marshes by the sea.
Katharine Coolidge.