The flesh is sad, alas! and I have read all the books. To flee! to flee far away! Where birds must be drunk To be amidst the unknown spray and the skies! Nothing, not old gardens mirrored in eyes Will keep back this heart drenched in the sea, O nights! nor the desolate light of my lamp On the empty paper sheathed in its whiteness, And neither the young wife nursing her child. I shall leave! Steamer with your masts swaying, Lift anchor for exotic climes! An ennui, racked of cruel hopes, Yet believes in the last farewell of handkerchiefs! And, it may be, the masts, inviting storms, Will be theirs a wind twists over shipwrecks Lost, without masts, without masts, or fertile shores . . . Still, O my heart, listen to the sailors' song! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOCKED OUT; AS TOLD TO A CHILD by ROBERT FROST RESURRECTION UPDATE by JAMES GALVIN THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO A MAN WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD by MARIANNE MOORE HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 11 by EZRA POUND THE CHARGE OF THE BREAD BRIGADE by EZRA POUND |