Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow, Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness. Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless, And turn with profound gesture vague and slow, As who would pray good for the world, but know Their benediction empty as they bless. They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth. The Pacific, October 1913 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO GOD THE FATHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN by WASHINGTON ALLSTON TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS FOR THE FOURTH TIME by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES SNOWFLAKES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SARRAZINE'S SONG, FR. CHAITIVEL by MARIE DE FRANCE LAODAMIA by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO A LADY TO ANSWER DIRECTLY WITH YEA OR NAY by THOMAS WYATT |