NOW the sun tips with fire every wave's tossing crest; The gulls are blown seaward, the wind's in the west; And the wide-rolling deep and the kelp-laden shore See cloud and fog fleeing to gray Labrador. The ships, all a-thrill with the joy of the breeze, Sail portward as light as the foam on the seas; Not a film in the sky — not a mote in the air — The blue seems the bright wall of heaven laid bare — And the gloom of the night and its ghostly cry scorning, We are glad in the azure and splendor of morning! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRY OF THE HUMAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING AT A COWBOY DANCE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS AUTUMN WEATHER by KATHARINE LEE BATES LES HIBOUX by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE RUNAWAY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ALL THESE MAKE MUSIC by ANNA SHAW BUCK AN ANSWER TO SOME ENQUIRIES CONCERNING AUTHOR'S OPINION OF A SERMON by JOHN BYROM |