THOUGH the torrents from their fountains Roar down many a craggy steep, Yet they find among the mountains Resting-places calm and deep. Clouds that love through air to hasten, Ere the storm its fury stills, Helmet-like themselves will fasten On the heads of towering hills. What, if through the frozen centre Of the Alps the Chamois bound, Yet he has a home to enter In some nook of chosen ground: And the Sea-horse, though the ocean Yield him no domestic cave, Slumbers without sense of motion, Couched upon the rocking wave. If on windy days the Raven Gambol like a dancing skiff, Not the less she loves her haven In the bosom of the cliff. The fleet Ostrich, till day closes, Vagrant over desert sands, Brooding on her eggs reposes When chill night that care demands. Day and night my toils redouble, Never nearer to the goal; Night and day, I feel the trouble Of the Wanderer in my soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AULD ROBIN GRAY by ANNE LINDSAY THE UNPARDONABLE SIN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY EDGE by CHARLOTTE FARRINGTON BABCOCK THE CATERPILLAR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SILVER ANNIVERSARY by BEULAH ALLYNE BELL ON NAPOLEON'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |