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 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
THE POLAR SEA
At the North, far away,
Rolls a great sea for aye,
Silently, awfully.
Round it on every hand
Ice-towers majestic stand,
Guarding this silent sea
Grimly, invincibly.
Never there man hath been,
Who hath come back again,
Telling to ears of men
What is this sea within.
Under the starlight,
Rippling the moonlight,
Drinking the sunlight,
Desolate, never heard nor seen,
Beating forever it hath been.
Rolls a great sea for aye,
Silently, awfully.
Round it on every hand
Ice-towers majestic stand,
Guarding this silent sea
Grimly, invincibly.
Never there man hath been,
Who hath come back again,
Telling to ears of men
What is this sea within.
Under the starlight,
Rippling the moonlight,
Drinking the sunlight,
Desolate, never heard nor seen,
Beating forever it hath been.
From our life far away
Roll the dark waves, for aye,
Of an Eternity,
Silently, awfully.
Round it on every hand
Death's icy barriers stand,
Guarding this silent sea
Grimly, invincibly.
Never there man hath been
Who could return again,
Telling to mortal ken
What is within the sea
Of that Eternity.
Roll the dark waves, for aye,
2
Silently, awfully.
Round it on every hand
Death's icy barriers stand,
Guarding this silent sea
Grimly, invincibly.
Never there man hath been
Who could return again,
Telling to mortal ken
What is within the sea
Of that Eternity.
Terrible is our life—
In its whole blood-written history
Only a feverish strife;
In its beginning, a mystery—
In its wild ending, an agony.
Terrible is our death—
Black-hanging cloud over Life's setting sun,
Darkness of night when the daylight is done.
In the shadow of that cloud,
Deep within that darkness' shroud,
Rolls the ever-throbbing sea;
And we—all we—
Are drifting rapidly
And floating silently
Into that unknown sea—
Into Eternity.
In its whole blood-written history
Only a feverish strife;
In its beginning, a mystery—
In its wild ending, an agony.
Terrible is our death—
Black-hanging cloud over Life's setting sun,
Darkness of night when the daylight is done.
In the shadow of that cloud,
Deep within that darkness' shroud,
Rolls the ever-throbbing sea;
And we—all we—
Are drifting rapidly
And floating silently
Into that unknown sea—
Into Eternity.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |