WHETHER 't was in that dome of evening sky, So hollow where the few great stars were bright, Or something in the cricket's lonely cry, Or, farther off, where swelled upon the night The surf-beat of the symphony's delight, Then died in crumbling cadences away -- A dream of Schubert's soul, too sweet to stay: Whether from these, or secret spell within, -- It seemed an empty waste of endless sea, Where the waves mourned for what had never been, Where the wind sought for what could never be: Then all was still, in vast expectancy Of powers that waited but some mystic sign To touch the dead world to a life divine. Me, too, it filled -- that breathless, blind desire; And every motion of the oars of thought Thrilled all the deep in flashes -- sparks of fire In meshes of the darkling ripples caught. Swiftly rekindled, and then quenched to naught; And the dark held me; wish and will were none: A soul unformed and void, silent, alone, And brooded over by the Infinite One. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES by CHARLES LAMB THE LOST CHILD by ST. CLAIR ADAMS SPRING SONG by JEAN ANTOINE DE BAIF THE LAST MAN: CONCEALED JOY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES PSALM 53 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE ROSA MUNDI by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN RETURN IN WINTER by EVELYN ANDREWS CALHOUN TO THE CROWD by GLADYS CROMWELL DIVINA COMMEDIA: PURGATORIO. CANTO 16. MAN'S FREE WILL by DANTE ALIGHIERI |