I CLOSE mine eyes in this lone inland place, This wood, far inland, thronged with sombrous trees -- Our southland pines -- in whose dark boughs the breeze Mourns like a spirit shorn of joy and grace; The same wild genius whose half-veiled face Dawns on the barren brink of wave-washed leas, Fraught with the ancient mystery of the seas, Whose hoary brow bears many a storm-bolt's trace; I close mine eyes; but lo! a spiritual light Steals round me: I behold through foam and mist A dreary reach of wan, slow-shifting sand, By transient glints of flickering star-beams kissed, And hear upborne athwart the desolate strand Voices of ghostly billows of the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE CALM [CALME] by JOHN DONNE AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 4. THE MARKET-GIRL by THOMAS HARDY THE LOWEST PLACE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 83. BARREN SPRING by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |