WHERE the bales thunder till the day is done, And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope; Where over crouching sail and coiling rope, Lascar and Moor along the gangway run; Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun, A hive of anarchy from slope to slope; Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope, I see thee at the masthead, joyous one! O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm, To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound, Away, away from this too thoughtful ground, Sated with human trespass and despair, Thee only, from the desert, from the storm, A sick mind follows into Eden air. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THOMAS MOORE (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TROAS: ACT II. LATTER END OF THE CHORUS by LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LUCINDA MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ANNE by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE GOOD FRIDAY (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SCHOOL GIRL by WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE FULL OF LIFE NOW by WALT WHITMAN TIPPERARY: 1. BY OUR OWN JAMES OPPENHEIM by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |