Not less because in purple I descended The western day through what you called The loneliest air, not less was I myself. What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard? What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears? What was the sea whose tide swept through me there? Out of my mind the golden ointment rained, And my ears made the blowing hymns they heard. I was myself the compass of that sea: I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw Or heard or felt came not from myself; And there I found myself more truly and more strange. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON AN INFANT WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE UPON HIS SPANIEL [SPANIELL] TRACIE by ROBERT HERRICK A DEDICATION by ALFRED TENNYSON THE CONCLUSION OF A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. C --. by MARY BARBER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 38. THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |