Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE COMRADE, by ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Stranger by the tavern board Last Line: Winnowed by the wave and sky. Alternate Author Name(s): Q; Quiller-couch, A. T. Subject(s): Death - Mothers; Ships & Shipping; Widows & Widowers; Dead, The | ||||||||
STRANGER by the tavern board, Brown man with the splendid eyne, Thou and I make no accord Till thou give the countersign Here, across the Rhenish wine! I had word in Trebizond Of thy favours to my blood, Of my father's cancelled bond, Why his widow lacked not food: Truly I believe thee good. Well I know my mother's lips Called thee kinder than her Own In those months my wandered ships, Fouler than this red beard grown, Wallowed in a raving zone. 'Needs no token round thy neck! Over deserts dusky white, Where the frosted quarter-deck Shivered back the Northern Light Through the aching Arctic night; By the coral-locked lagoon, While upon the seamless blue Like a silver clasp, the moon Drew the gauzèd night, wherethrough Her two horns dripped honey-dew; Thine the face that, first and last, Haunted me. For thee I scanned Passing deck and lifting mast, Peep of dawn and fall of land. Now we meethold back thy hand! Tho' thou smilest by the board, Tho' our fingers itch to twine, Thou and I make no accord Till I have the countersign Here, across the Rhenish wine. He that loves but half of Earth Loves but half enough for me. Succourer of starving Worth, Say, but could thy Charity Stoop as pitiful a knee, Hold as equable a torch O'er the hell that sinners tread? Tenderly, in windy porch, Lift the drooping harlot's head, As the good man's in his bed? Earth, that built our jolly bones, Earth, that brewed our jovial blood, In each atom of us owns Spark of filial fire that should Quicken to her parent mood. Here, astride the breasts of Earth, With the wind upon thy face, Canst resound thy mother's mirth, Catch a breath and say a grace For the glory of the pace? Thankful for thy privilege In the hunter's gallant stride, In the glancing rapid's edge, In the waters that divide To thy nimble, naked pride; Thankful for the climber's heel Fast above the smooth ravine, For the hand-shake of the wheel, When the giddy royals lean And the forefoot treads it green; For the sleep of tirèd limbs, For the feast of meat and wine, For the merry laugh that brims Labour with a froth divine? Pledge me this, and I am thine. Then to horse!the gates are wide. Host, a cup before we go! He and I are pledged to ride Till the gust of onset blow Dead the failing spark; and so Having reached, or failed to reach, In no Abbey will we lie, But upon a league-long beach Find the braver cemet'ry, Winnowed by the wave and sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND SAGE COUNSEL by ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH |
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