I SIT on the lonely headland, Where the sea-gulls come and go: The sky is gray above me, And the sea is gray below. There is no fisherman's pinnace Homeward or outward bound; I see no living creature In the world's deserted round. I pine for something human, Man, woman, young or old, -- Something to meet and welcome, Something to clasp and hold. I have a mouth for kisses, But there's no one to give and take I have a heart in my bosom Beating for nobody's sake. O warmth of love that is wasted! Is there none to stretch a hand? No other heart that hungers In all the living land? I could fondle the fisherman's baby, And rock it into rest; I could take the sunburnt sailor, Like a brother, to my breast. I could clasp the hand of any Outcast of land or sea, If the guilty palm but answered The tenderness in me! The sea might rise and drown me, -- Cliffs fall and crush my head, -- Were there one to love me, living, Or weep to see me dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HEMLOCK AND CEDAR by CARL SANDBURG A SERVANT TO SERVANTS by ROBERT FROST AN EPITAPH by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE OPPORTUNITY by JOHN JAMES INGALLS A MATCH by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE LINES by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 18. TO THE HON. FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON by MARK AKENSIDE |