THE land breaks out, like a gleam of hope, Over the ocean foam, But its daughters no longer are pulling the rope That's bringing her sailors home. Her whalers lie rotting, and lone and drear, Far in some foreign port: They have laid there rusting for many a year, Of water and wind the sport. The decks are piled with the winter snows, The men are scattered, -- ah me! No masthead echoes to "There she blows!" Far out in the Okhotsk Sea. But her hearts are as tried, and her men as true, As, when trimming the distant sail, They passed their lives on the waters blue, In hunting the Bow Head Whale. Her daughters are pure and sweet and fair, And cheerful and kind and good, And sparkling water and sparkling air Shine out in their changeful mood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LENTEN GREETING; TO A LADY by GEORGE SANTAYANA REVELATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER FRAGMENT ON DEATH by FRANCOIS VILLON GIRL TO SOLDIER ON LEAVE by ISAAC ROSENBERG IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 47 by ALFRED TENNYSON |