 | Graffiti d'Italia |  |
365
ON THE SEA-SHORE.
The sky is grey, with lowering clouds of lead,
And scarce a break of blue,
Here pencilled down with rain, and overhead
With silver gleams shot through.
And scarce a break of blue,
Here pencilled down with rain, and overhead
With silver gleams shot through.
Upon the rocky shore I sit alone;
The dark-green sullen sea,
Along the shore makes a perpetual moan,
And struggles restlessly.
The dark-green sullen sea,
Along the shore makes a perpetual moan,
And struggles restlessly.
Noiseless as pictures, on their wings of white
The distant vessels glide
By purple islands veiled in dreamy light,
That silent there abide.
The distant vessels glide
366
That silent there abide.
Across the purple shoals of sunken rocks
The toppling racers break,
And suck, and roar, and beat with ceaseless shocks
The worn cliff's weedy base.
The toppling racers break,
And suck, and roar, and beat with ceaseless shocks
The worn cliff's weedy base.
Heaved by the lifting swell, the long green flag
Of sea-weed floats and falls,
And down their shelf the raking pebbles drag,
As back the surf-wave crawls.
Of sea-weed floats and falls,
And down their shelf the raking pebbles drag,
As back the surf-wave crawls.
I sit as in a dream, and hear, and see,
With senses lulled away,
And what the ocean says or sings to me
I strive in vain to say.
With senses lulled away,
And what the ocean says or sings to me
I strive in vain to say.
Something there is beneath that constant moan
That utterance seeks in vain;
Like some dim memory, some hidden tone,
That, helpless, haunts the brain.
That utterance seeks in vain;
Like some dim memory, some hidden tone,
That, helpless, haunts the brain.
367
But all my thoughts, like sea-weed, swing and sway,
The sport of fantasy;
And visions pass before me far away,
Like vessels out at sea,—
The sport of fantasy;
And visions pass before me far away,
Like vessels out at sea,—
Pass through my mind with an ideal freight,
And softly move along—
A sweet procession, without care or weight,
Like disembodied song.
And softly move along—
A sweet procession, without care or weight,
Like disembodied song.
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