 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
15
Across the Flood
The Solent, February 1st, 1901.
She comes, before her every ensign dips,
Such majesty has death she still is Queen,
Pale shines the Solent as it sobs between
Her islands dark and dumb for the eclipse
Of sovereignty and love. Her warrior ships
Lie sorrowing on the waters, sailors lean
Sad on their arms reversed, and what they mean
The guns forth-tell from melancholy lips.
Such majesty has death she still is Queen,
Pale shines the Solent as it sobs between
Her islands dark and dumb for the eclipse
Of sovereignty and love. Her warrior ships
Lie sorrowing on the waters, sailors lean
Sad on their arms reversed, and what they mean
The guns forth-tell from melancholy lips.
The very heavens do seem to feel our mood,
The great sun pales, the tide runs ghostly grey,
And the wind sighs as if by pain possessed,
So to the island of perpetual rest
She comes; Ah! well! for she has crossed the flood,
But we this side in lamentation stay.
The great sun pales, the tide runs ghostly grey,
And the wind sighs as if by pain possessed,
So to the island of perpetual rest
She comes; Ah! well! for she has crossed the flood,
But we this side in lamentation stay.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |