WE'LL hear the uncompanioned murmur of the swell, And touch the drift-wood, delicately grey, And with our quickened senses smell The sea-flowers all the day. We'll count the white gulls pasturing on meadows brown, And gaze into the arches of the blue, Till evening's ice comes stealing down From those far fields of dew. Now slow the crimson sun-god swathes his eye, and sails To sleep in his innumerable cloak; And gentle heat's gold pathway fails In autumn's opal smoke; Then long we'll watch the journey of the soft halfmoon -- A gold-bright moth slow-spinning up the sky; And know the dark flight -- all too soon -- Of land-birds wheeling by. Through all the black wide night of stars our souls shall touch The sky, in this long quietude of things, And gain brief freedom from the clutch Of life's encompassings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LITTLE BILLEE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY INTAGLIOS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A WORD TO THE WEST END by THOMAS ASHE THE WATERS OF H. BAPTISME by JOSEPH BEAUMONT FIVE LITTLE WANDERINGS: 1. BABYHOOD by BERTON BRALEY THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: MIDGES by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |