This cluck of water in the tangles -- What said it to the Angles? What to the Jutes, This wave sip-sopping round the salt sea-roots? With what association did it hit on The tympanum of a Damnonian Briton? To tender Guinevere, to Britomart, The stout of heart, Along the guarded beach Spoke it the same sad speech It speaks to me -- This sopping of the sea? Surely the plash Of water upon stones, Encountering in their ears the tones Of dominant passions masterful, Made but a bourdon for the chord Of a great key, that rested lord Of all the music, straining not the bones Of Merlin's scull; And in the ear of Vivian its frets Were silver castanets, That tinkled 'mong the vanities, and quickened The free, full-blooded pulse, Nor sickened Her soul, nor stabbed her to the heart. Strange! that to me this gurgling of the dulse Allays no smart, Consoles no nerve, Rounds off no curve -- Alack! Comes rather like a sigh, A question that has no reply -- Opens a deep misgiving What is this life I'm living -- Our fathers were not so -- Silence, thou moaning wrack! And yet . . . I do not know. And yet . . . I would go back. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 18 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WILDERNESS TRANSFORMED by PHILIP DODDRIDGE SONNET: 27 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ON HEARING THAT THE STUDENTS OF OUR NEW UNIVERSITY JOINED AGITATION .. by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A CONSISTENT GIRL by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONGS OF NIGHT TO MORNING: 5 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) CROMEK SPEAKS by WILLIAM BLAKE ECHOES OF SPRING: 7 by MATHILDE BLIND HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 32 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |