GREY drizzling mists the moorlands drape, Rain whitens the dead sea, From headland dim to sullen cape Grey sails creep wearily. I know not how that merchantman Has found the heart; but 't is her plan Seaward her endless course to shape. Unreal as insects that appall A drunkard's peevish brain, O'er the grey deep the dories crawl, Four-legged, with rowers twain: Midgets and minims of the earth, Across old ocean's vasty girth Toiling -- heroic, comical! I wonder how that merchant's crew Have ever found the will! I wonder what the fishers do To keep them toiling still! I wonder how the heart of man Has patience to live out its span, Or wait until its dreams come true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MANOKWARI, IRIAN JAYA; IN MEMORIAM, ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE by KAREN SWENSON LAMENT FOR THE MAKARIS [WHEN HE WAS SEIK] by WILLIAM DUNBAR THE MAIZE by WILLIAM WHITEMAN FOSDICK IN TIME OF GRIEF by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE THE SOLITARY WOODSMAN by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS SEASONS (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ARIEL'S SONG (1) [OR, DIRGE] [OR, A SEA DIRGE]. FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |