No lurking shadows here appear;
by Ina D. Coolbrith
The weaving spider comes not here;
Here, if the solemn Owl doth sit,
‘Tis but above the tapers lit,
To blink at wisdom’s shinning wit.
The skies are blue, the winds are fair,
Nor place nor space for tyrant care
Within the bounds, Bohemia.
Lo! gold is much, but ‘tis not all-
Too oft a lure the soul to thrall;
The subtle brain, the skilled hand,
Of melody the magic wand,
The silent songs the poets sing,
Which through the world take voice and wing,
The sparkling jest, the laughing lip,
The royal, genial fellowship-
Of these thy wealth, Bohemia.
O children of the Cloudless Clime!
Where’er the changing sands of time
Have borne ye, lo! from one and all
The voices answer, voices call!
From Seen, and from the Unseen Land,
Where, unforgot, dear comrades stand,
Lift loyal heart and loyal hand,
With love of thee, Bohemia.
* Written for the Bohemian Club,1893.