C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Sand Martins
By Jean Ingelow (18201897)
I
From tiny caves peeped many a sooty poll;
In each a mother-martin sat elate,
And of the news delivered her small soul.
Whereof the meaning was not ill to tell:
“Gossip, how wags the world with you to-day?”—
“Gossip, the world wags well, the world wags well.”
Were in the bird-talk, and discourse was made
Concerning hot sea-bights and tropic suns,
For a clear sultriness the tune conveyed;
Hailing down light on pagan Pharaoh’s sand,
And quivering air-waves trembling up and up,
And blank stone faces marvelously bland.
Where costly day drops down in crimson light?
(Fortunate countries of the firefly
Swarm with blue diamonds all the sultry night,
When should they pass again by that red land,
Where lovely mirage works a broidered hem
To fringe with phantom palms a robe of sand?
In slumbrous azure pools clear as the air,
Where rosy-winged flamingoes fish all day,
Stalking amid the lotus blossoms fair?
While cassias blossom in the zone of calms,
And so betake them to a south sea-bight
To gossip in the crowns of cocoa-palms
Some dawn, white-wingèd they might chance to find
A frigate standing in to make more fair
The loneliness unaltered of mankind.
And nimble feet would climb the flower-flushed strand,
While northern talk would ring, and therewithal
The martins would desire the cool north land,
Again at eve there would be news to tell;
Who passed should hear them chant it o’er and o’er,
‘Gossip, how wags the world?’—‘Well, gossip, well.’”