Say not, the struggle nought availeth, The labor and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Came, silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE RULETH NOT THROUGH HE RAIGNE OVER REALMES by THOMAS WYATT HIS LADY'S HAND by THOMAS WYATT ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE [OUT OF NORFOLK] by WILLIAM COWPER THE HOUSE WITH NOBODY IN IT by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER |