 | Poems: Second Series |  |
48
TO SLIEVE CROGHAUN.
High headland mountain, that with double faceDost ever sentinel the western land—
For us thou risest from a sheltered strand,
For us thy slopes of heathery rock embrace
A happy haven, an unrippled place
Of windless water and smooth, silver sand;
But where we cannot see thee, thou dost stand
Fronting the deep, and round thy rocky base
The restless surge of the Atlantic raves
With sullen murmur: so thou standest there,—
Though never eye behold those ocean waves—
Lonely and strong and steadfast as despair,
Thyself the screen that hides thy stormy breast
And thy true life of passion and unrest.
| Poems: Second Series | |