Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WOMAN OF BEARE, by ANONYMOUS First Line: "ebbing, the wave of the sea" Last Line: Ebbs the wave of the sea Subject(s): "legends, Irish; | ||||||||
EBBING, the wave of the sea Leaves, where it wantoned before Wan and naked the shore, Heavy the clotted weed. And in my heart, woe is me! Ebbs a wave of the sea. I am the Woman of Beare. Foul am I that was fair, Gold-embroidered smocks I had, Now in rags am hardly clad. Arms, now so poor and thin, Staring bone and shrunken skin, Once were lustrous, once caressed Chiefs and warriors to their rest. Not the sage's power, nor lone Splendour of an aged throne, Wealth I envy not, nor state. Only women folk I hate. On your heads, while I am cold, Shines the sun of living gold. Flowers shall wreathe your necks in May: For me, every month is grey. Yours the bloom: but ours the fire, Even out of dead desire. Wealth, not men, ye love; but when Life was in us, we loved men. Fair the men, and wild the manes Of their coursers on the plains; Wild the chariots rocked, when we Raced by them for mastery. Lone is Femen: vacant, bare, Stands in Bregon Ronan's Chair. And the slow tooth of the sky Frets the stones where my dead lie. The wave of the great sea talks: Through the forest winter walks. Not to-day by wood and sea Comes King Diarmuid here to me. I know what my king does. Through the shivering reeds, across Fords no mortal strength may breast, He rows -- to how chill a rest! Amen! Time ends all. Every acorn has to fall. Bright at feasts the candles were, Dark is here the house of prayer. I, that when the hour was mine Drank with kings the mead and wine, Drink whey-water now, in rags Praying among shrivelled hags. Amen! Let my drink be whey, Let me do God's will all day -- And, as upon God I call, Turn my blood to angry gall. Ebb, flood, and ebb: I know Well the ebb, and well the flow, And the second ebb, all three -- Have they not come home to me! Came the flood that had for waves Monarchs, mad to be my slaves, Crested as by foam with bounds Of wild steeds and leaping hounds. Comes no more that flooding tide To my silent dark fireside. Guests are many in my hall, But a hand has touched them all. Well is with the isle that feels Now the ocean backward steals: But to me my ebbing blood Brings again no forward flood. Ebbing, the wave of the sea Leaves, where it wantoned before, Changed past knowing the shore, Lean and lonely and grey. And far and farther from me Ebbs the wave of the sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SITTING BULL IN SERBIA by WILLIAM JAY SMITH TO THE EXCELLENT ORINDA by PHILO PHILIPPA EPIGRAM OCCASIONED BY CIBBER'S VERSES IN PRAISE OF NASH: 1 by ALEXANDER POPE THE GIFT OF THE GODS by JOHN GODFREY SAXE TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH by ALFRED TENNYSON BEAU NASH by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER BEAU NASH AND THE ROMAN, OR THE TWO ERAS by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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