The wrack is lapping in the pools, the sea's lip feels the sand, Upon the mussel-purple rocks the restless mews are wailing: The sinuous serpents of the tide are darkly twisting to the land: The west wind drinks the foam as east she comes a-sailing. @3(A whisper of the secret tides upon another coast, The windy headlands of the soul, the lone sands of the mind. . . . That whisper swells as of a congregating host, And I am as one frozen, or deaf, or blind.)@1 O Tide that fills the little pools along the sunset-strand, That sets the mews a-wailing above the wailing sea, Bring back, hold out, O flowing Tide, O with a saviour hand Restore the long-ebbed hopes, some fragment give to me! @3(Along the dim and broken coasts the tired mind knows its own, By day and night the silent tides are silent evermore: Around the headlands of the soul the great deeps moan, Or with dull thunders plunge from shore to shore.)@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIMON SURNAMED PETER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS RORY O'MORE; OR, ALL FOR GOOD LUCK by SAMUEL LOVER COUNTER-ATTACK by SIEGFRIED SASSOON LONDON, 1802 (2) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ISOBEL'S CHILD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |