Sailors there are of gentlest breed, Yet strong, like every goodly thing; The discipline of arms refines, And the wave gives tempering. The damasked blade its beam can fling; It lends the last grave grace: The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman In Titian's picture for a king, Are of hunter or warrior race. In social halls a favored guest In years that follow victory won, How sweet to feel your festal fame In woman's glance instinctive thrown: Repose is yours -- your deed is known, It musks the amber wine; It lives, and sheds a light from storied days Rich as October sunsets brown, Which make the barren place to shine. But seldom the laurel wreath is seen Unmixed with pensive pansies dark; There's a light and a shadow on every man Who at last attains his lifted mark -- Nursing through night the ethereal spark. Elate he never can be; He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth, Sleep in oblivion. -- The shark Glides white through the phosphorus sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIXTEEN MONTHS by CARL SANDBURG THE POWER OF ART by GEORGE SANTAYANA JABBERWOCKY by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON SONNET: 31 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT by JOHN GODFREY SAXE |