 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
16
DESPAIR AND HOPE
We sailed a cruise on a summer sea—
I, and a skull for company:
I in the stern our course to turn,
And it on the prow to grin at me.
Over the deep heaven, hung below,
Whose imaged clouds lay white like snow,
Glided we, as the tide might be,
Slipping swiftly, floating slow.
Past the woods all living green—
Save by the marge some fading tree,
Whose leaf, so early autumn-touched,
Would make the skull to grin at me.
I, and a skull for company:
I in the stern our course to turn,
And it on the prow to grin at me.
Over the deep heaven, hung below,
Whose imaged clouds lay white like snow,
Glided we, as the tide might be,
Slipping swiftly, floating slow.
Past the woods all living green—
Save by the marge some fading tree,
Whose leaf, so early autumn-touched,
Would make the skull to grin at me.
Past a grove of fragrant pine,
From whose dusky depths of shade
Snowy shaft and colonnade
Marked a ruined altar-shrine;—
And the skull's grim face grinned into mine.
Under the arch of a vine-clasped elm
Leaning off from the mossy land,
Across the shallow the idle helm
Lightly furrowed the silver sand:
Down the slope all clover-sweet
Danced a group in childish glee—
Hissed a swift snake at their feet;—
Then the skull grinned unto me.
From whose dusky depths of shade
Snowy shaft and colonnade
Marked a ruined altar-shrine;—
And the skull's grim face grinned into mine.
Under the arch of a vine-clasped elm
Leaning off from the mossy land,
Across the shallow the idle helm
Lightly furrowed the silver sand:
Down the slope all clover-sweet
Danced a group in childish glee—
17
Then the skull grinned unto me.
Into a cavern dim and dank
Crept we on the creeping tide;
Shapeless creatures rose and sank,
Dripped with damp the ceiling wide.
Darker, chiller hung the air;
Scarcely I the prow could see;
But I, through the shadow there,
Felt the skull still grin at me.
Crept we on the creeping tide;
Shapeless creatures rose and sank,
Dripped with damp the ceiling wide.
Darker, chiller hung the air;
Scarcely I the prow could see;
But I, through the shadow there,
Felt the skull still grin at me.
Out of the cavern's thither side,
Into a mellow, morn-like glow,
Streams the ripple-curving tide;
Sounds of music sweeter grow;
Odorous incense, softened air,
Melodies so faint and fair,
Thrill me through with life and love:
And all suddenly from the prow,
Where had seemed the skull just now,
Flutters to my breast a dove.
Into a mellow, morn-like glow,
Streams the ripple-curving tide;
Sounds of music sweeter grow;
Odorous incense, softened air,
Melodies so faint and fair,
Thrill me through with life and love:
And all suddenly from the prow,
Where had seemed the skull just now,
Flutters to my breast a dove.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |