AN old, old house by the side of the sea, And never a picture poet would paint; But I hold the woman above the saint, And the light of the hearth is more to me Than shimmer of air-built castle. It fits as it grew to the landscape there -- One hardly feels as he stands aloof Where the sandstone ends, and the red slate roof Juts over the window, low and square, That looks on the wild sea-water. From the top of the hill so green and high There slopeth a level of golden moss, That bars of scarlet and amber cross, And rolling out to the farther sky Is the world of wild sea-water. Some starved grape-vineyards round about -- A zigzag road cut deep with ruts -- A little cluster of fisher's huts, And the black sand scalloping in and out 'Twixt th' land and th' wild sea-water. Gray fragments of some border towers, Flat, pellmell on a circling mound, With a furrow deeply worn all round By the feet of children through the flowers, And all by the wild sea-water. And there, from the silvery break o' th' day Till the evening purple drops to the land, She sits with her cheek like a rose in her hand, And her sad and wistful eyes one way -- The way of the wild sea-water. And there, from night till the yellowing morn Falls over the huts and th' scallops of sand -- A tangle of curls like a torch in her hand -- She sits and maketh her moan so lorn, With the moan of the wild sea-water. Only a study for homely eyes, And never a picture poet would paint; But I hold the woman above the saint, And the light of the humblest hearth I prize O'er the luminous air-built castle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SLEEPLESS NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE THE SONG MAKER by SARA TEASDALE WRITTEN IN NORTHAMPTON COUNTY ASYLUM by JOHN CLARE REBEL MOTHER'S LULLABY by SHANE LESLIE THE PRAYER PERFECT by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE SENTINEL; TO MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |