I grow so weary: is it death This awful woful weariness? It is a weight to heave my breath, A weight to wake, a weight to sleep; I have no heart to work or weep. The sunshine teazes and the dark; Only the twilight dulls my grief: Is this the Ark, the strong safe Ark, Or the tempestuous drowning sea Whose crested coursers foam for me? Why does the sea moan evermore? Shut out from Heaven it makes its moan, It frets against the boundary shore: All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still. Sheer miracles of loveliness Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed: Salt passionless anemones Blow flower-like; just enough alive To blow and propagate and thrive. Shells quaint with curve or spot or spike, Encrusted live things argus-eyed, All fair alike yet all unlike, Are born without a pang and die Without a pang and so pass by. I would I lived without a pang: Oh happy they who day by day Quiescent neither sobbed nor sang; Unburdened with a what or why They live and die and so pass by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER SUNSET by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO MRS. PRIESTLEY, WITH SOME DRAWINGS OF BIRDS AND INSECTS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD CHOPIN'S NOCTURNE IN G MINOR by ARLO BATES INTEGRITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET CLOUD-LIFE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN RELEASE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ARMISTICE DAY by ZELMA DUNNING BOWEN ON THE LOSS OF PROFESSOR FISHER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |