No luck? No, hardly a bite today. But I hooked the flash of the leaping spray And netted the glint as the long waves roared Over the weed-girt ledge and poured In foaming rills down the smooth black rock. I shook to the quiver of every shock, As if the hands of maestro Sea Were crashing symphonic chords on me. The salt-cool draught that the southwind bore Steeped through my lungs to the inmost core Of being, and with a throb my soul, Expanding, was one with the silver bowl Of the open Atlantic, dawn-caressed; While a schooner swam on my tossing breast As light as a sliding bubble of foam; And the tattered splendor of clouds above Was not too vast for my arms of love. Then the good hour passed and my feet turned home. No luck at all? Well, yes, in a way No luck at all's what I ought to say. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: STATE'S ATTORNEY FALLAS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE MOUNTAIN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH A WINTER'S NIGHT by ROBERT FROST THE GIANTS OF HISTORY by JAMES GALVIN THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN JAWEH AND ALLAH BATTLE by ALLEN GINSBERG DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 2. LOS CIGARILLOS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |