When the wind storms by with a shout, and the stern sea-caves Rejoice in the tramp and the roar of onsetting waves, Then, then, it comes home to the heart that the top of life Is the passion that burns the blood in the act of strife -- Till you pity the dead down there in their quiet graves. But to drowse with the fen behind and the fog before, When the rain-rot spreads, and a tame sea mumbles the shore, Not to adventure, none to fight, no right and no wrong, Sons of the Sword heart-sick for a stave of your sire's old song -- O, you envy the blessed dead that can live no more! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF A PHOTOGRAPHER by KAREN SWENSON ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER by JOHN KEATS WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF OUR BELOVED GENERAL STONEWALL JACKSON by CAROLINE AUGUSTA BALL TO THE DEAD by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE KIND WORD by ADA CAMBRIDGE LAMORNA COVE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |