To westward, sea and sky alone,
And sunsets. Put a mossy stone,
With mortal name and date, a harp
And bunch of wild flowers, carven sharp;
Then leave it free to winds that blow,
And patient mosses creeping; slow,
And wandering wings, and footsteps rare
Of human creature pausing there.
Similar Posts
These little Songs,
Floating in airBy forest and lea,Or hill-side heather,In houses and throngs,Or down by the sea –Have come together,How, I can’t tell:But I know full wellNo witty goose-wingOn an inkstand begot ’em;Remember each placeAnd moment of grace,In summer or spring,Winter or autumnBy sun, moon, stars,Or a coal in the bars,In market or church,Graveyard or dance,When they…
A man who keeps a diary, pays
But life becomes eventful–thenHis busy hand forgets the pen.Most books, indeed, are records lessOf fulness than of emptiness.
In Sussex here, by shingle and by sand,
The shallow tide-wave courses to the land,And all along the down a fringe one seesOf ducal woods. That ‘dim discovered spire’Is Chichester, where Collins felt a fireTouch his sad lips; thatched Felpham roofs are these,Where happy Blake found heaven more close at hand.Goodwood and Arundel possess their lords,Successive in the towers and groves, which stay;These…
The Boy from his bedroom-window
And away to the bleak black uplandUnder a clouded moon.The moon came forth from her cavern,He saw the sudden gleamOf a tarn in the swarthy moorland;Or perhaps the whole was a dream.For I never could find that waterIn all my walks and rides:Far-off, in the Land of Memory,That midnight pool abides.Many fine things had I…
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;
All the Dead that ever I knewGoing one by one and two by two.On they pass’d, and on they pass’d;Townsfellows all, from first to last;Born in the moonlight of the lane,Quench’d in the heavy shadow again.Schoolmates, marching as when they play’dAt soldiers once – but now more staid;Those were the strangest sight to meWho were…
When the spinning-room was here
With their spindles every night;One and Two and three fair Maidens,Spinning to a pulsing cadence,Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;Till the eleventh hour was toll’d,Then departed through the wold.Years ago, and years ago;And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.Three white Lilies, calm and clear,And they were loved by every one;Most of all, the Pastor’s…