Classic and Contemporary Poetry
WASTWATER TO SCAWFELL, by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN Poet's Biography First Line: I love to kiss thy feet Last Line: The children of the earth. Alternate Author Name(s): Brown, T. E. Subject(s): Swimming And Swimmers | ||||||||
I LOVE to kiss thy feet With tend'rest lip of wave; To feel that thou art big and brave, And beautiful and strong; Nor any glare of lightning-sheet, Nor thunder-crash, nor all the storms that rave Combined, avail to do thee wrong. Bare-breasted to the blast, Thou art at grips with him Steadfast, yet through each awful limb I feel the rock-veins start, And muscular thrillings darkly passed, And rigid throes, and a pulsation dim, And all the working of thy heart. Me too he smites -- I quiver, Yet, 'neath the scourge, to thee I cling, and kiss thee in an agony, Of thy great love secure: Love that is helpless to deliver, Only it strengthens, whisp'ring unto me: -- "Endure, O friend!" and I endure. Dear thus; but even dearer When on my waveless breast, Smoothed glassy in a mirrored trance of rest, Thy perfect shadow sleeps, And, waxing clearer still and clearer, Limns its fine edge till, all of thee possessed, I faint within my yearning deeps. Once, when the world was young, To us at least unknown All law of severance that dooms thee lone, And me forbids to rise; When first I felt thy shadow flung, I thought thyself descended from thy throne To bless me with a swift surprise. Fond thought! but mine no more; Ah, no! it was not thou! The beldame years have preached me that enow. But O, if thou couldst glide Into my arms, how I would pour Around thee sleeping, side, and breast, and brow -- Storm-furrowed brow, and breast, and side! What would I do, O God! if that were true! With wreaths of diamond spray I would bind thee every way -- O! I'd crown thee, and I'd drown thee, And I'd bathe thee, and I'd swathe thee With the swirling and the curling, And the splashing and the flashing Of my arms; And I'd float to thee in bubbles, And I'd woo thee in sweet troubles Of a gurgling soft and reedy, Of a rippling foamed and beady, Till with a refluent sliding, Till with a hushed subsiding, I would hold thee in the hollows Where the storm-trump never follows, Never pierces with the clang of its alarms. Be still, my heart, be still! Dreams are but dreams, they say; The ordered world is one both night and day, And we are but the gear, Nor have we aught of voice or will, But, borne on her great zones, we must obey, Nor move but with the moving sphere. So, when in meek compliance, I hear the distant roar That comes of jubilant waves on ocean's shore, When on the nether plain The iron monster snorts defiance, And boasts himself the slave of fate no more, Exulting in his fiery pain, I heed the challenges of change Not once, nor once would leave The dale, like that proud stream so proud t'achieve His course of giddy mirth. We ask not for such chartered range: We are content with her to joy and grieve Who is our mother, and did us conceive, The children of the earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BARTON SPRINGS by TONY HOAGLAND THE SWIMMER'S MOMENT by MARGARET AVISON NOT BAD, DAD, NOT BAD' by JAN HELLER LEVI WITH EMMA AT THE LADIES-ONLY SWIMMING POND ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH by LINDA GREGERSON A SERMON AT CLEVEDON; GOOD FRIDAY by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN MY GARDEN by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HOM-VEG AND BALLURE'S RIVER by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN A FABLE, FOR HENRICUS D., ESQ., JR by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN A FRAGMENT by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |
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