Driving back thro' the night on the lonely last ride Swinging face to the fore, @3"Coming—coming—coming"—@1 Tell how the brave old call died, How the hushed minutes wore! Passing out to the deeps, keeping there solemn tryst, Going slowly by, The lights gleam out thro' the murk and the mist, Shining cheerily. The ice flashes back from the white, snow-blocked lips, Drifting dreamily, And the piled decks blanch white as the red port-light dips, Swaying heavily, Or the wounded side gapes where the sated maw drips, Lifting wearily. Now the lights falter out as the great billows trip, Fading mistily, And the white mists close in as the spent spectre slips Tired and trustingly, Lingering by, lifting high thro' the storms white eclipse, Hushed and wistfully. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHEEP AND LAMBS by KATHARINE TYNAN THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO A THESAURUS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MAKE FRIENDS by ALI IBN ABU TALIB THE EXILE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA SURNAMES by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |