Classic and Contemporary Poetry
OCEANUS, by WILLIAM SHARP Poet's Biography First Line: While still the dusk impends above the gimmering waste Last Line: Above thou art living death, oblivion under! Alternate Author Name(s): Macleod, Fiona Subject(s): Swimming & Swimmers | ||||||||
I While still the dusk impends above the glimmering waste A tremor comes: wave after wave turns silvery bright: A sudden yellow gleam athwart the east is traced: The waning stars fade forth, swift perishing pyres. The moon lies pearly-wan upon the front of Night. Then all at once upwells a flood of golden light And a myriad waves flash forth a myriad fires: Now is the hour the amplest glory of life to taste, Outswimming towards the sun upon the billowy waste. II The pure green waves! with crests of dazzling foam ashine, Onward they roll: innumerably grand, they beat A wild and jubllant triumph-music all divine! The sea-fowl, their white kindred of the spray-swept air, Scream joyous echoes as with wave-dipped pinions fleet They whirl before the blast or vanish 'mid blown sleet. In loud-resounding, strenuous, conquering play they fare, Like clouds, high over head, forgotten lands i' the brine -- Great combing deep-sea waves with sunlit foam ashine. III On the wide wastes she lives her lawless, passionate life: Enslaved of none, the imperious mighty Sea! How glorious the music of her waves at strife With all the winds of heaven that, fiercely wooing, blow! On high she ever chants her psalm of Victory; Afar her turbulent paean tells that she is free; The tireless albatross with wings like foam or snow Flies leagues on leagues for days, and yet the world seems rife With nought save windy waves and the Sea's wild free life! IV How oft the strange, wild, haunting glamour of the Sea, The strange, compelling magic of her thrilling Voice, Have won me, when, 'mid lonely places, wild and free As any wand'ring wind, I have heard along the shore The wondrous ever-varying Sea-song loud rejoice. I have seen a snowy petrel, arising, poise Above the green-sloped wave, then pass for evermore From keenest sight, and I have thought that I might be Thus also deathward lured by glamour of the Sea. V Hark to the long resilient surge o' the ebbing tide; With shingly rush and roar it foams adown the strand: The great Sea heaves her restless bosom far and wide -- Heedless she seems of winds and all the forceful laws That bar her empire over the usurping Land: Enough, she dreams, is her imperial command To make the very torrents, waveward falling, pause: She scorns the Bridegroom-Land, yet is a subject Bride For she must come and go with each recurrent tide. VI On moonless nights, when winds are still, her stealthy waves Creep towards the listening land; with voices soft and low They whisper strange sea-secrets 'mid the hollow caves: A wondrous song it is that rises then and falls! Deep-buried memories of the ancient long ago, Confused strange echoes of some vanished old world woe, Weird prophecies reverberant round those wave-worn walls: When loud the wrathful billows roar and the Sea runes Her deepest mourning broods beneath the foaming waves. VII As some aerial spirit weaves a rainbow-veil Of mist, his high immortal loveliness to hide; So too thy palpitant waters, duskily pale, Oft-times take on a sudden splendour wild. Then thy sea-horses rise, fierce prancing side by side, And -- like the host of the dead-arisen -- ride Ghastly afar to bournes where all the dead lie piled! . . . Superb, fantastic, crown'd with flying splendours frail, Thou, when in dreams, thou weav'st thy phosphorescent veil! VIII Vast, vast, immeasurably vast, thy dreadful peace When heaving with slow mighty breath thou liest In utter rest, and dost thy ministering winds release So that with folded wings they too subside, Floating through hollow spaces, though the highest Stirs his long tremulous pinions when thou sighest! Then in thy soul, that doth in fathomless depths abide, All wild desires and turbulent longings cease -- Profound, immeasurable then, thy dreadful peace! IX But in thy noon of night, serene as death, when under The terrible silence of that arched dome Not a lost whisper ev'n of thy wandering thunder Ascends like the spiral smoke of perishing flame, Nor dying wave on they swart bosom sinks in foam -- Then, then the world is thine, thy heritage, thy home! What then for thee, O Sea, thou Terror! or what name To call thee by, thou Sphinx, thou Mystery, thou Wonder -- Above thou art Living Death, Oblivion under! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOW THE CHILDREN ARE OLD ENOUGH by ANDREW MOTION STARING AT THE PACIFIC, AND SWIMMING IN IT by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER THE SWIMMER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM |
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