In front of our mouths, wherever we swim There is always glass, and something dim, Something foreign and fathomless Like a far storm's shuddering heaviness. There are little green leaves about us here, Through seaweed forests our way we steer Among delicate threads and slime and light. Then we are still, not grasping quite The voice of home, sounding out of sight. A little push and there is the wall, We trip, we tremble, prisoners all,— And again the strange power, that never breaks in, Ruling through walls so firm, so thin. O sorrowful circling in this small room; Iridescent-eyed, we stare at our doom. Pale colors before us towering bloom, The vast paper, a roaring sound. Perplexing us, from the dim profound. Now toward us, through the turbid veil, Across the inkwell bends something pale, It dazzles, close to our dwelling-place,— The huge, sorrowful human face. It lies as the pale moon lies on the sea, But in its whiteness, heavy and slow, Flickering, blind with captivity, Moving as fish move, restlessly, The two dark eyes go to and fro. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MAN'S REQUIREMENTS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A PRAYER IN SPRING by ROBERT FROST THE LITTLE HILL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE by ALFRED TENNYSON SONNET TO HOPE by HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS A SNOWFLAKE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE COMING OF THE SNOW by MARION L. BERTRAND ON A PRESSED FLOWER IN MY CPOY OF KEATS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |