This cluck of water in the tangles -- What said it to the Angles? What to the Jutes, This wave sip-sopping round the salt sea-roots? With what association did it hit on The tympanum of a Damnonian Briton? To tender Guinevere, to Britomart, The stout of heart, Along the guarded beach Spoke it the same sad speech It speaks to me -- This sopping of the sea? Surely the plash Of water upon stones, Encountering in their ears the tones Of dominant passions masterful, Made but a bourdon for the chord Of a great key, that rested lord Of all the music, straining not the bones Of Merlin's scull; And in the ear of Vivian its frets Were silver castanets, That tinkled 'mong the vanities, and quickened The free, full-blooded pulse, Nor sickened Her soul, nor stabbed her to the heart. Strange! that to me this gurgling of the dulse Allays no smart, Consoles no nerve, Rounds off no curve -- Alack! Comes rather like a sigh, A question that has no reply -- Opens a deep misgiving What is this life I'm living -- Our fathers were not so -- Silence, thou moaning wrack! And yet . . . I do not know. And yet . . . I would go back. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH YOU ARE COMING by SARA TEASDALE ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH by WILLIAM COWPER THE LAST RESERVATION by WALTER LEARNED CHRISTMAS BELLS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE LITTLE HILL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE INDIAN SERENADE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AMORETTI: 64 by EDMUND SPENSER THE DANUBE RIVER by C. HAMILTON AIDE FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SORROW by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |