What sacramental hurt that brings The terror of the truth of things Had changed thee? Secret be it yet. 'T was thine, upon a headland set, To view no isles of man's delight, With lyric foam in rainbow flight, But all a-swing, a-gleam, mid slow uproar, Black sea, and curved uncouth sea-bitten shore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DREAM OF JULIUS CAESAR by ROBERT FROST CACHE LA POUDRE by JAMES GALVIN I'M GOING BACK TO SOMETHING by DAVID IGNATOW THE CRESCENT MOON by AMY LOWELL THE DECISION (APRIL 14, 1861) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |