The Poet is the loneliest man that lives; Ah me! God makes him so -- The sea hath its ebb and flow, He sings his songs -- but yet he only gives In the waves of the words of his art Only the foam of his heart. Its sea rolls on forever, evermore, Beautiful, vast, and deep; Only his shallowest thoughts touch the shore Of Speech; his deepest sleep. The foam that crests the wave is pure and white; The foam is not the wave; The wave is not the sea -- it rolls forever on; The winding shores will crave A kiss from ev'ry wavelet on the deep; Some come; some always sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LACEDEMONIAN INSTRUCTION by WILLIAM BLAKE THE PLANTATION CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE CHURCH OF A DREAM; TO BERNHARD BERENSON by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW WITH MY CIGAR by JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY |