THE awakening swan grows tired at last Of weltering pastures where he feeds With wings and feet behind him cast, He cleaves the labyrinth of the reeds. He arches out his sparkling plumes, He wades and plunges, till he finds Beneath his breast the azure glooms Where the great river brims and winds. Then, with white sails set to the breeze, The current cold about his feet, He fares to those Hesperides Where morning and his comrades meet. Nor -- since within his kindling veins A livelier ichor stirs at last -- Regrets the gross and juicy stains, The saps and savours of the past; But through the august and solemn void Of misty waters holds his way, By some ecstatic thirst decoyed Towards raptures of the radiant day. So sails the soul, and cannot rest, Inglorious, in the marsh of peace, But leaves the good, to seek the best, Though all its calms and comforts cease, -- Though what it seems to hold be lost, Though that grow far which once was nigh, -- By torturing hope in anguish tossed, The awakened soul must sail or die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S WOOING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A HOUSE by JOHN COLLINGS SQUIRE THE BROOK: SPRING by LAURA ABELL BALLADE OF SCHOPENHAUER'S PHILOSOPHY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONNET OF FISHES by GEORGE BARKER FIRST NIGHT-FLIGHT by MARGARET BODEN JUDICIUM PARIDIS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON ODE UPON OCCASION OF A COPY OF VERSES OF MY LORD BROGHILL'S by ABRAHAM COWLEY |