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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN, by GEORGE SANTAYANA Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Of thee the northman by his beached galley Last Line: Solace of mortals. Variant Title(s): Ode: 5 Subject(s): Mediterranean Sea | |||
Of thee the Northman by his beached galley Dreamt, as he watched the never-setting Ursa And longed for summer and thy light, O sacred Mediterranean. Unseen he loved thee; for the heart within him Knew earth had gardens where he might be blessed, Putting away long dreams and aimless, barbarous Hunger for battle. The foretaste of thy langours thawed his bosom; A great need drove him to thy caverned islands From the gray, endless reaches of the outer Desert of ocean. He saw thy pillars, saw thy sudden mountains Wrinkled and stark, and in their crooked gorges, 'Neath peeping pine and cypress, guessed the torrent Smothered in flowers. Thine incense to the sun, thy gathered vapours, He saw suspended on the flanks of Taurus, Or veiling the snowed bosom of the virgin Sister of Atlas. He saw the luminous top of wide Olympus, Fit for the happy gods; he saw the pilgrim River, with rains of Ethiopia flooding Populous Egypt. And having seen, he loved thee. His racked spirit, By thy breath tempered and the light that clothes thee, Forgot the monstrous gods, and made of Nature Mistress and mother. The more should I, O fatal sea, before thee Of alien words make echoes to thy music; For I was born where first the rills of Tagus Turn to the westward. And wandering long, alas! have need of drinking Deep of the patience of thy perfect sadness, O thou that constant through the change of ages, Beautiful ever, Never wast wholly young and void of sorrows, Nor ever canst be old, while yet the morning Kindles thy ripples, or the golden evening Dyes thee in purple. Thee, willing to be tamed but still untamable, The Roman called his own until he perished, As now the busy English hover o'er thee, Stalwart and noble; But all is naught to thee, while no harsh winter Congeals thy fountains, and the blown Sahara Chokes not with dreadful sand thy deep and placid Rock-guarded havens. Thou carest not what men may tread thy margin; Nor I, while from some heather-scented headland I may behold thy beauty, the eternal Solace of mortals. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MEDITERRANEAN by JOHN ORLEY ALLEN TATE GENOA AND THE MEDITERRANEAN by THOMAS HARDY IN THE MEDITERRANEAN - GOING TO THE WAR by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE MEDITERRANEAN by THOMAS MCGRATH AN OLD MAP by ELIZABETH MORROW MARE MEDITERRANEAN by JOHN NICHOL LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON FRAGMENTS FROM ITALY: 2 by JOHN CIARDI |
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