Sailors there are of gentlest breed, Yet strong, like every goodly thing; The discipline of arms refines, And the wave gives tempering. The damasked blade its beam can fling; It lends the last grave grace: The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman In Titian's picture for a king, Are of hunter or warrior race. In social halls a favored guest In years that follow victory won, How sweet to feel your festal fame In woman's glance instinctive thrown: Repose is yours -- your deed is known, It musks the amber wine; It lives, and sheds a light from storied days Rich as October sunsets brown, Which make the barren place to shine. But seldom the laurel wreath is seen Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; There's a light and a shadow on every man Who at last attains his lifted mark -- Nursing through night the ethereal spark. Elate he never can be; He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, Sleep in oblivion. -- The shark Glides white through the phosphorus sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED STATES by THOMAS HARDY FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE by SAMUEL LOVER THE POET'S SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MIRROR by THEODORE AUBANEL ON SENDING MY SON AS A PRESENT TO DR. SWIFT by MARY BARBER THE BROKEN PITCHER by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ZOPHIEL; OR THE BRIDE OF SEVEN: CANTO 3. PALACE OF THE GNOMES by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS |