We spoke of a rest in a fairy knowe of the North, but he, Far from the firths of the East, and the racing tides of the West, Sleeps in the sight and the sound of the infinite Southern Sea, Weary and well content in his grave on the Vaea crest. Tusitala, the lover of children, the teller of tales, Giver of counsel and dreams, a wonder, a world's delight, Looks o'er the labours of men in the plain and the hill; and the sails Pass and repass on the sea that he loved, in the day and the night. Winds of the West and the East in the rainy season blow Heavy with perfume, and all his fragrant woods are wet, Winds of the East and West as they wander to and fro, Bear him the love of the land he loved, and the long regret. Once we were kindest, he said, when leagues of the limitless sea Flowed between us, but now that no wash of the wandering tides Sunders us each from each, yet nearer we seem to be, Whom only the unbridged stream of the river of Death divides. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH THE LEVELLER, FR. THE CONTENTION OF AJAX AND ULYSSES by JAMES SHIRLEY AUNTIE'S SKIRTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON CORRESPONDENCES by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PSALM 122 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE RETURN TO TOMHANICK by ANN ELIZA BLEECKER ARMISTICE DAY by ZELMA DUNNING BOWEN GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD: 1. MOTHER MAGIC by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |