Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: THE SHORE, by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Can it be women that walk in the sea-mist under the cliffs there? Last Line: The sorrow whose sound is the wind, and the roar of the limitless sea. Alternate Author Name(s): Meredith, Owen; Lytton, 1st Earl Of; Lytton, Robert Subject(s): Netherlands; Seashore; Travel; Holland; Dutch People; Beach; Coast; Shore; Journeys; Trips | ||||||||
CAN it be women that walk in the sea-mist under the cliffs there? Where, 'neath a briny bow, creaming, advances the lip Of the foam, and out from the sand-choked anchors, on to the skiffs there, The long ropes swing through the surge, as it tumbles; and glitter, and drip. All the place in a lurid, glimmering, emerald glory, Glares like a Titan world come back under heaven again: Yonder, up there, are the steeps of the sea-kings, famous in story; But who are they on the beach? They are neither women, nor men. Who knows, are they the land's, or the water's, living creatures? Born of the boiling sea? nurst in the seething storms? With their woman's hair dishevelled over their stern male features, Striding, bare to the knee; magnified maritime forms! They may be the mothers and wives, they may be the sisters and daughters Of men on the dark mid-seas, alone in those black-coiled hulls, That toil 'neath you white cloud, whence the moon will rise o'er the waters To-night, with her face on fire, if the wind in the evening lulls. But they may be merely visions, such as only sick men witness (Sitting as I sit here, filled with a wild regret), Framed from the sea's misshapen spume with a horrible fitness To the winds in which they walk, and the surges by which they are wet: -- Salamanders, sea-wolves, witches, warlocks; marine monsters, Which the dying seaman beholds, when the rats are swimming away, And an Indian wind 'gins hiss from an unknown isle, and alone stirs The broken cloud which burns on the verge of the dead, red day, I know not. All in my mind is confused; nor can I dissever The mould of the visible world from the shape of my thoughts in me. The Inward and Outward are fused: and, through them, murmur forever The sorrow whose sound is the wind, and the roar of the limitless sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD, WHAT'S THAT NOISE? by RICHARD HOWARD LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO RIVERS INTO SEAS by LYNDA HULL DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE ONE WHO WAS DIFFERENT by RANDALL JARRELL THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES TO H. B. (WITH A BOOK OF VERSE) by MAURICE BARING THE LAST WISH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: AUX ITALIENS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE CHESSBOARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |
|