THE quarrelling winds perplex me. On this side One wave rolls up, on that a different tide, And the black ship, whereon we sail, Shifts with the shifting of the gale. We are exhausted by the fearful blast: Round the mast's foot the bilge is rising fast. And all the sail is thin and worn, With great holes gaping, rent and torn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SLUG IN WOODS by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY THE CRY OF THE HUMAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CHANNEL FIRING by THOMAS HARDY TO HELEN (2) by EDGAR ALLAN POE ILICET by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |