WHEN, of old, a chief died in the North, Then they wrapped him close in fighting dress, Laid his life-worn weapons him beside, And, with stern and silent tenderness, In a boat wide-bosomed on the tide, Placed his death-cold body, pushed him forth Thence to drift at will of wind and fate, Till at last he found the Ultimate. Amply weaponed so, with courage grim, Prone along my death-boat, like to him I would day-long rock and roam and wait For a subtle turn of tide and sea, For a gust of wind to break and blow Love and land and life away from me; Favoring, until I glide and go Past each bourn and billow-boundary To the waters lying round my fate, To the windless, unoared Ultimate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CINQUAIN: THE WARNING by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY WORKING GIRLS by CARL SANDBURG THE CAPTAIN; A LEGEND OF THE NAVY by ALFRED TENNYSON THE SUPLIANTS: IO. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS THE TROPHY GUNS by LEVI BISHOP SIR W. TRELOAR'S DINNER FOR CRIPPLED CHILDREN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 15 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |