 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
67
TO THE SEA, AFTER A GREAT STORM.
JANUARY 15TH.
Thou hast been drunk, thou Sea, but not with wine:With power, and with consciousness of might
Invincible! and, as it were a slight
And broken slumber, like a libertine,
Thou hast arisen, in thy strength divine,
And cast thy rest from off thee, making light
Of Man and his vain works, with infinite
Contempt, as sharing not with thee or thine!
But now thy Saturnalia again
Are done, and thou liest listless on the shore,
A melancholy stillness brooding o'er
Thy majesty, a sense almost of pain,
And, 't might seem, of remorse, for power in vain
Exerted, to destroy, not to restore!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |