Ride to the Lady - And Other Poems by Helen Gray Cone
page 12 of 59 (20%)
page 12 of 59 (20%)
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Again, again the unexhausted main
Renews fierce effort, drawing force unguessed From awful deeps of its mysterious breast: Like arms of passionate protest, tossed in vain, The spray upflings above the billow's crest. Again the appulse, again the backward strain-- Till ocean must have rest. With one abandoned movement, swift and wild,-- As though bowed head and outstretched arms it laid On the earth's lap, soft sobbing,--hushed and stayed, The great sea quiets, like a soothed child. Ha! what sharp memory clove the calm, and drave This last fleet furious wave? On, on, endures the struggle into night, Ancient as Time, yet fresh as the fresh hour; As oft repeated since the birth of light As the strong agony and mortal fight Of human souls, blind-reaching, with the Power Aloof, unmoved, impossible to cross, Whose law is seeming loss. Low-sunken from the longed-for triumph-mark; The spent sea sighs as one that grieves in sleep. The unveiled moon along the rippling plain Casts many a keen, cold, shifting silvery spark, Wild as the pulses of strange joy, that leap Even in the quick of pain. |
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