One with the ruined sunset, The strange forsaken sands, What is it waits, and wanders, And signs with desperate hands? What is it calls in the twilight -- Calls as its chance were vain? The cry of a gull sent seaward Or the voice of an ancient pain? The red ghost of the sunset, It walks them as its own, These dreary and desolate reaches . . . But O, that it walked alone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. CONGREVE, ON HIS COMEDY, 'THE DOUBLE-DEALER' by JOHN DRYDEN THE WORLD-SOUL by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE PRIESTHOOD by GEORGE HERBERT A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESS by ROBERT HERRICK AN ESSAY ON MAN by ALEXANDER POPE |