 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
60
THE WRECK ROCK BELL.
Above Life's waves, with wild ill-omened toll,
Just like that warning buoy-bell which is washed
By livid breakers, where a ship has crashed,
I hear a bell of shipwreck in my soul.
Just like that warning buoy-bell which is washed
By livid breakers, where a ship has crashed,
I hear a bell of shipwreck in my soul.
The bitter waste surrounds it; woe's waves roll
For ever t'wards it; spray of hope long dashed
Leaps over it; and, ever faster lashed,
It howls its dirge of ruin on the shoal.
For ever t'wards it; spray of hope long dashed
Leaps over it; and, ever faster lashed,
It howls its dirge of ruin on the shoal.
‘Too late, too late,’ it thunders through the dark,
With brazen tongue, that drips eternal brine,
‘Thy race is run; thou wouldst not heed or hark.
With brazen tongue, that drips eternal brine,
‘Thy race is run; thou wouldst not heed or hark.
‘Too late, too late. Man sails, by foul or fine,
One voyage only in his life's swift bark;
One and no more. What made thee shipwreck thine?’
One voyage only in his life's swift bark;
One and no more. What made thee shipwreck thine?’
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |