Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A NORTHERN VIGIL, by BLISS CARMAN Poet's Biography First Line: Here by the gray north sea Last Line: Another dawn on the world! Subject(s): Sea; Ocean | ||||||||
Here by the gray north sea, In the wintry heart of the wild, Comes the old dream of thee, Guendolen, mistress and child. The heart of the forest grieves In the drift against my door; A voice is under the eaves, A footfall on the floor. Threshold, mirror and hall, Vacant and strangely aware, Wait for their soul's recall With the dumb expectant air. Here when the smouldering west Burns down into the sea, I take no heed of rest And keep the watch for thee. I sit by the fire and hear The restless wind go by, On the long dirge and drear, Under the low bleak sky. When day puts out to sea And night makes in for land, There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand! When night goes over the hill And dawn comes down the dale, It's O for the wild sweet will That shall no more prevail! When the zenith moon is round, And snow-wraiths gather and run, And there is set no bound To love beneath the sun, O wayward will, come near The old mad wilful way, The soft mouth at my ear With words too sweet to say! Come, for the night is cold, The ghostly moonlight fills Hollow and rift and fold Of the eerie Ardise hills! The windows of my room Are dark with bitter frost, The stillness aches with doom Of something loved and lost. Outside, the great blue star Burns in the ghostland pale, Where giant Algebar Holds on the endless trail. Come, for the years are long, And silence keeps the door, Where shapes with the shadows throng The firelit chamber floor. Come, for thy kiss was warm, With the red embers' glare Across thy folding arm And dark tumultuous hair! And though thy coming rouse The sleep-cry of no bird, The keepers of the house Shall tremble at thy word. Come, for the soul is free! In all the vast dreamland There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand. Ah, not in dreams at all, Fleering, perishing, dim, But thy old self, supple and tall, Mistress and child of whim! The proud imperious guise, Impetuous and serene, The sad mysterious eyes, And dignity of mien! Yea, wilt thou not return, When the late hill-winds veer, And the bright hill-flowers burn With the reviving year? When April comes, and the sea Sparkles as if it smiled, Will they restore to me My dark Love, empress and child? The curtains seem to part; A sound is on the stair, As if at the last. ... I start; Only the wind is there. Lo, now far on the hills The crimson fumes uncurled, Where the caldron mantles and spills Another dawn on the world! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HALL OF OCEAN LIFE by JOHN HOLLANDER JULY FOURTH BY THE OCEAN by ROBINSON JEFFERS BOATS IN A FOG by ROBINSON JEFFERS CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE FIGUREHEAD by LEONIE ADAMS A MORE ANCIENT MARINER by BLISS CARMAN |
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