THOUSANDS and thousands of hushed years ago, Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown Above a sea that knew nor ebb nor flow, Nor any motion won of winds that blow, Nor any sound of watery wail or moan, Nor lisp of wave, nor wandering undertone Of any tide lost in the night below. So still it was, I mind me, as I laid My thirsty ear against mine own faint sigh To drink of that, I sipped it, half afraid 'Twas but the ghost of a dead voice spilled by The one starved star that tottered through the shade And came tiptoeing toward me down the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A STREET SKETCH by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY CHRISTMASSE DAY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT CATHERINE TO GREGORY, THE POPE by MARY KATE BLAND THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: TARAFA by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SHAKE, MULLEARY AND GO-ETHE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |