 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
SOON TO MEET.
When a man sails to far-off, longed-for ways,
With many days to pass 'twixt sea and sky,
At first he heeds not time, and seeks thereby
To mock its power; but after weary days,
When one cries, “Land in sight!” he takes his place
With others on the deck, and can descry
The outlines of the land; then feverishly
He counts the minutes till he win their grace.
With many days to pass 'twixt sea and sky,
At first he heeds not time, and seeks thereby
To mock its power; but after weary days,
When one cries, “Land in sight!” he takes his place
With others on the deck, and can descry
The outlines of the land; then feverishly
He counts the minutes till he win their grace.
So when my venturous life put forth alone —
Yourself the lovely land it steered unto —
I dared not count the hours that now are flown,
All but these last remaining, lessening few;
And these, being few enough to count, have grown
As painful ages till they bring me you.
Yourself the lovely land it steered unto —
I dared not count the hours that now are flown,
All but these last remaining, lessening few;
And these, being few enough to count, have grown
As painful ages till they bring me you.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |