WE swing to the ultimate offing,— But our anchor is dug in a star; The while the black squads of the scoffing Go battling afar To The Infinite,—such is their boasting— His riddle to read,— As urchins the precipice coasting— To face Him indeed. See them pass!—like the flocking of ravens! Do they reach unto Godhead?—Who knows? From out of their spaces or havens No signals disclose! But the star pulls hard at our cable,— Shall we loose on their track? Or leave them to madness and fable, And homeward draw back? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 32 by JAMES JOYCE MY FATHER'S FACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH ADELAIDE AND JOHN WILKES BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: THE GOVERNOR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A HYMN OF HATE by DOROTHY PARKER |