GRAY as the fog-wreaths over it blown When the surf beats high and the caves make moan, Stained with lichens and stormy weather The church and the scarred rocks rise together; And you scarce may tell, if a shadow falls, Which are the ledges and which the walls. By the sombre tower, when daylight dies, And dim as a cloud the horizon lies, I love to linger and watch the sails Turn to the harbor with freshening gales, Till yacht and dory and coaster bold Are moored as safe as a flock in fold. White Island lifts its ruddy shine High and clear o'er the weltering brine, And Boone and Portsmouth and far Cape Ann Flame the dusk of the deep to span, And the only sounds by the tower that be Are the wail of the wind and the wash of the sea. Gray as the fog-wreaths over it blown When the surf beats high and the caves make moan, Stained with lichens and stormy weather The church and the scarred rocks rise together; And you scarce may tell, if a shadow falls, Which are the ledges and which the walls. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PRAYER FOR MY DAUGHTER by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS AGAMEMNON: HELEN. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS FANNIE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH I HAVE SEEN by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS MOTHER AND CHILD (WAR VICTIMS) by EVELYN D. BANGAY A SUPERSTITION REVISITED by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WARMTH OF MEMORY by BERTON BRALEY |