Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SLEEP AT SEA, by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI

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SLEEP AT SEA, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Sound the deep waters
Last Line: Of all their ways.
Alternate Author Name(s): Alleyne, Ellen; Rossetti, Christina
Subject(s): Birds' Nests; Dreams; Sea; Sleep; Vanity; Nightmares; Ocean

Sound the deep waters: -
Who shall sound that deep? -
Too short the plummet
And the watchmen sleep.
Some dream of effort
Up a toilsome steep;
Some dream of pasture grounds
For harmless sheep.

White shapes flit to and fro
From mast to mast;
They feel the distant tempest
That nears them fast:
Great rocks are straight ahead,
Great shoals not passed;
They shout to one another
Upon the blast.

Oh soft the streams drop music
Between the hills,
And musical the birds' nests
Beside those rills:
The nests are types of home
Love-hidden from ills,
The nests are types of spirits
Love-music fills.

So dream the sleepers,
Each man in his place;
The lightning shows the smile
Upon each face:
The ship is driving, - driving, -
It drives apace:
And sleepers smile, and spirits
Bewail their case.

The lightning glares and reddens
Across the skies;
It seems but sunset
To those sleeping eyes.
When did the sun go down
On such a wise?
From such a sunset
When shall they arise?

'Wake,' call the spirits:
But to the heedless ears:
They have forgotten perils
And smiles and tears;
Their dream has held them long
Long years and years.

'Wake,' call the spirits again:
But it would take
A louder summons
To bid them awake.
Some dream of pleasure
For another's sake:
Some dream, forgetful
Of a lifelong ache.

One by one slowly,
Ah how sad and slow!
Wailing and praying
The spirits rise and go:
Clear stainless spirits,
White, white as snow;
Pale spirits, wailing
For an overthrow.

One by one flitting,
Like a mournful bird
Whose song is tired at last
For no mate heard.
The loving voice is silent,
The useless word;
One by one flitting
Sick with hope deferred.

Driving and driving,
The ship drives amain:
While swift from mast to mast
Shapes flit again,
Flit silent as the silence
Where men lie slain;
Their shadow cast upon the sails
Is like a stain.

No voice to call the sleepers,
No hand to raise:
They sleep to death in dreaming
Of length of days.
Vanity of vanities,
The Preacher says:
Vanity is the end
Of all their ways.

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