THE tempest is raging, It floggeth the billows, And the billows, fierce-foaming and rearing, Rise up on high, and with life are all heaving The snowy watery mountains, And the small bark climbs o'er them, Labouring hastily, And suddenly plungeth it down In the black, wide-gaping abyss of the flood. -- O sea! Mother of beauty, the foam-arisen one! Grandmother of love! O spare me! Already flutters, corpse-scenting, The snowy, spirit-like sea-mew, And wetteth his beak 'gainst the mast, And longs, -- eager to taste, -- for the heart Which proclaimeth the fame of thy daughter, And which thy grandson, the little rogue, Chose for his plaything. In vain my entreaties and prayers! My cry dies away in the blustering storm, In the wind's battle-shout; It roars and pipes and crackles and howls, Like a madhouse of noises! And, between times, I audibly hear Harp-strains alluring, Songs all wild and yearning, Spirit-melting and spirit-rending, And the voice I remember! Far away, on the rock-coast of Scotland, Where the old grey castle projecteth Over the wild raging sea, There at the lofty and arched window, Standeth a woman, beauteous but ill, Softly-transparent and marble-pale, And she's playing her harp and she's singing, And the wind through her long locks forceth its way And beareth her gloomy song Over the wide and tempest-toss'd sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOOLIN' WID DE SEASONS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LET THE LIGHT ENTER (THE DYING WORDS OF GOETHE) by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER LILIES: 13. 'LET US NEVER COMFORT EACH OTHER INTO SLEEP' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) ARTIST by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK A THOUGHT FROM SCHILLER by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THIS IS THE END by JEAN DE BOSSCHERE |