According to Places Where Women Made History:
“During her lifetime and briefly thereafter, Celia Thaxter was one of the better known women poets in America … In both content and style, her verse owes much to New England writers James Russell Lowell and John Greenleaf Whittier, who, during stays at her family's island hotel, urged Thaxter to write. The similarities only went so far, though. Thaxter's subjects and style differed from those of other regional writers of the day, for she seldom alluded to people and instead dealt chiefly with natural themes--the sea, rocks and flowers of her earlier island home”

Double-click on any word and see its definition from Cambridge Dictionaries Online.

Read the poem below and then answer some questions about it. You can find out lots more about the author at Celia Thaxter's Circle. Finally, do some writing yourself.

The British Council is not responsible for the content of external internet sites.

You can also listen to this poem:
Download mp3 file or listen on your PC
To download, right-click on the link above, choose 'Save target as', and select where you want to save the file. If you're a using a Mac, simply double-click on the link and use the on-screen window to select the file's destination.
If you want to listen on your PC, just left click and the file will play in your default player. For Mac users, click the link.
(See/print audio script) (pdf doc)

Land-locked

Black lie the hills; swiftly doth daylight flee;
And, catching gleams of sunset's dying smile,
Through the dusk land for many a changing mile
The river runneth softly to the sea.

O happy river, could I follow thee!
O yearning heart, that never can be still!
O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
Longing for level line of solemn sea!

Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,
Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
All summer's glory thine from morn till night,
And life too full of joy for uttered words.

Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream
Deliciously how twilight falls to-night
Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem

To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,
To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low, -- my name they speak!

O Earth! Thy summer song of joy may soar
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.

Your turn

Write a poem about a place you would like to be in. Send it to us.